T] 


THE  PROBATIONER 

AND    OTHER    STORIES 


BY 

HERMAN  WHITAKER 


HARPER    <$••    BROTHERS    PUBLISHERS 

N'EW  YORK  AND  LONDON 

1905 


•vy 


Copyright,  1905,  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS. 

All  rights  reserved. 
Published  March,  1905. 


! 


TO     MY     FRIEND 

HALVOR    HAUCH 


260130 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

THE  PROBATIONER 3 

A  SON  OF  ANAK 37 

THE  MERCY  OF  THE  FROST 69 

A  DRUMMER  OF  THE  QUEEN 95 

THE  FRECKLED  FOOL 117 

A  SON  OF  COPPER  SIN 133 

A  SAGA  OF  54° 149 

THE  BLACK  FACTOR 179 

AN  ILIAD  OF  THE  SNOWS 205 

THE  DEVIL'S  MUSKEG 227 

A  SLIP  OF  THE  NOOSE 253 

A  TALE  OF  THE  PASQUIA  POST 279 

MATTY'S  CHRISTMAS  PRESENT 299 


THE    PROBATIONER 


THE    PROBATIONER 


PULLING  up  his  ponies  on  the  crest  of  a  long 
divide,  Jake  Mattheson  extended  his  whip  and 
growled : 

"Yon's  the  school.  Thar's  where  we  hold  meet 
ing." 

The  minister  who  sat  beside  him  shivered  as  he 
looked  down  on  the  wintry  land.  A  twenty-mile 
wind  plus  sixty  degrees  of  frost  is  not  produc 
tive  of  warmth,  and  the  bitter  prospect  added 
a  chill  to  their  rigors.  All  about  them  clumps  of 
ragged  poplar  blotched  the  whiteness.  Far  off  a 
range  of  hills  thrust  scrub-crowned  peaks  against  a 
livid  sky;  the  snowy  wastes  were  lifeless.  In  the 
east  a  sad  spruce  forest  blackly  loomed.  Over  all 
brooded  the  silence. 

The  vastness  of  it  all,  the  solitude,  the  blanched, 
far-reaching  desolation,  awed  and  oppressed  the 

3 


THE   PROBATIONER 

young  man.  It  was  so  different  from  the  smug, 
road-ruled  Eastern  townships.  Hard,  cruel,  brutal, 
its  utter  savagery  repelled  the  eye  and  sickened  the 
soul. 

"Settlement's  behind  the  ridge,"  Jake  added. 
"See  it  in  five  minutes.  Git  up,  thar!" 

In  less  than  the  specified  time  the  minister  — 
student,  rather,  for  he  was  not  yet  ordained  — 
looked  down  on  the  pastorate  to  which  he  had  been 
called  on  probation.  Its  appearance  was  not  in 
spiring.  Over  a  wide  range  of  rolling  prairie  a  score 
or  so  of  shanties  were  thinly  scattered.  Rude  they 
all  were — some  built  of  sod,  others  of  rough,  un 
hewn  logs.  Only  one  or  two  boasted  a  second  story ; 
and,  to  offset  the  pretensions  of  these,  still  others 
were  simply  mounds  of  straw  threshed  over  loose 
pole  frames.  Grim,  inhospitable  -  looking,  they 
stood  amid  unfenced  fields,  their  spurting  columns 
of  wood  smoke  alone  suggesting  a  note  of  cheer. 

"Looks  homesome,  don't  it?"  the  driver  said. 
"Cold?  Shore!  We'll  soon  be  thar." 

Glancing  quickly  up,  the  student  saw  that  a 
smile  was  softening  the  lines  of  the  man's  grim 
visage.  Amazed,  he  tried  to  think  what  in  that 
bleak  prospect  could  call  forth  a  touch  of  feeling, 
and  wondered  if  he,  too,  would  some  day  come  to 

4 


THE   PROBATIONER 

love  it.  It  did  not  seem  possible.  Stern  and  for 
bidding,  the  land  frowned  upon  him  in  its  cold 
ness. 

So  steeped  was  he  in  this  mood  that  he  took  no 
heed  of  the  trail.  Scrub,  bluff,  and  snowy  waste 
passed  by  in  dim  procession  until  a  shout,  a  crash, 
and  the  sudden  impact  of  his  own  body  against  the 
dashboard  effectually  aroused  him. 

Turning  quickly  about  a  bluff,  they  had  run  into 
a  mounted  man  and  just  missed  a  girl  who  rode 
behind  him.  When  the  student  recovered  and 
looked  around,  the  man  was  pinned  in  the  deep 
snow  beneath  his  beast,  while  the  girl  sat  her 
bronco  and  looked  on  with  an  expression  of  half 
amusement,  half  concern. 

"Jake,"  yelled  the  fallen  man,  "kain't  you  give 
me  a  hand?" 

But  Jake's  broncos  were  showing  what  a  Western 
pony  can  do  in  the  line  of  kicking  when  he  humps 
himself,  and  Jake  said  so  in  terms  that  were  any 
thing  but  polite.  Uttering  an  oath,  the  young 
fellow  continued  his  struggles  until  the  student 
jumped  from  the  sleigh  and  raised  the  fallen  beast. 
Then  growling  surly  thanks,  he  rose  and  dusted 
the  snow  from  his  moose-skin  coat. 

"Jake,"  he  growled,  "I'll  take  up  a  subscription 

5 


THE   PROBATIONER 

to  buy  you  a  string  o'  bells.  You  came  round  thet 
bluff  slick  as  death." 

A  contemptuous  grin  wrinkled  the  settler's  gnarl 
ed  front.  "Yer  ears  is  long  enough,"  he  snarled. 
"  Put  the  gal  ahead  nex'  time,  McCloud.  She  ain't 
deaf." 

Flushing  angrily,  the  young  fellow  made  a  sharp 
retort,  which  the  settler  answered.  While  they 
were  exchanging  personal  opinions,  the  student  took 
note  of  the  girl.  She  was  surveying  his  clerical  garb 
with  a  half-curious,  half-quizzical  glance.  At  first 
he  had  taken  her  for  a  boy,  for  she  rode  astride, 
Western  fashion,  and  her  long  hair  was  coiled  be 
neath  her  cap;  but  the  small  waist,  large  eyes,  and 
unmistakably  feminine  hips  quickly  undeceived 
him.  Pretty,  he  thought,  turning  his  eyes  from  her 
short  riding-skirt,  but — so  bold!  No  women  of  his 
acquaintance  ever  rode  that  way. 

"Wai,"  finished  Mattheson,  "I  kain't  stop  to 
bandy  words  with  no  fool  idgit.  Git  up,  thar! 
Who  is  he?"  Jake  answered  to  his  companion  when 
the  ponies  were  once  more  flying  along  the  trail. 
"  Ye'll  find  out  soon  enough.  Him  an'  thet  gal  hev 
kept  us  out  of  a  minister  for  more'n  half  a  year. 
Her  name's  Walton,  Ruth  Walton,  an'  she's  the 
derndest  little  minx  west  o'  Winnipeg.  Why,"  he 

6 


THE     PR9BATIONER 

ejaculated,  slapping  his  thigh,  "she  jest  runs  the 
vestry."  Then,  with  a  rueful  grin  that  yet  con 
tained  an  element  of  pride,  he  told  how  she  had 
driven  the  three  probationers  back  to  the  haunts 
of  men. 

"The  first/'  he  said,  "was  a  right  smart  chap 
— you  should  hev  seen  him  spank  the  Bible;  but 
Ruth  took  a  mislikin'  to  his  hair.  Said  it  was  too 
straight,  an'  —  well,  he  hed  to  go."  The  student 
blushed  as  he  remembered  that  his  call  had  con 
tained  the  rather  unusual  request  for  a  photograph 
and  a  snip  of  his  hair.  "Yes,"  Jake  repeated,  "he 
hed  to  go,  for  Ruth  raised  the  boys  agin  him  an' 
made  his  place  hotter  'n  blazes.  The  next  chap," 
he  mused,  pulling  out  and  biting  off  nearly  half  a 
plug  of  tobacco,  "  was  a  lettle  too  pale  in  the  gills  for 
her  taste — didn't  care  much  'bout  him;  but  the 
third  was  a  jim  dandy.  Licked  two  of  the  boys,  an' 
put  some  backbone  in  the  vestry.  Thought  we  was 
agoin'  to  keep  him,  but"— he  sighed— "man  thet  is 
born  of  weemen  is  small  pertaters  an'  few  in  a  hill. 
The  derned  fool  hed  to  go  an'  fall  in  love  with 
Ruth.  Thet  fixed  him.  She  made  such  a  show 
of  the  critter  thet  we  fired  him  slick.  She  'lowed," 
the  settler  finished,  as  the  ponies  pulled  up  in  front 
of  his  door,  "thet  you  was  a  likely-lookin'  chap. 

7     ' 


THE    PROBATIONER 

But,  Lordy,"  he  dubiously  added,  "  there's  no  tellin'. 
You  hain't  got  the  beef  o'  the  last  chap,  an'  the 
boys  might  notion  to  hustle  you  theirselves.  Mr. 
Ritchie,  wife,"  he  said  to  the  feminine  duplicate 
of  himself  who  just  then  opened  the  door.  "He's 
agoin'  to  board  with  us.  Hustle  supper." 


II 


THE  remainder  of  that  week  the  new  minister  spent 
in  making  house-to-house  calls,  and  everywhere  he 
went  he  heard  more  of  Ruth  and  her  tricks.  She 
was,  he  learned,  an  only  daughter,  the  child  of  an 
English  settler  of  whom  little  was  known  save  that 
his  speech  and  bearing  proclaimed  him  of  good 
family — such  are  plenty  in  the  Northland,  whose 
vast  womb  lends  itself  to  the  burying  of  secrets.  Of 
her  mother  still  less  was  known,  but  one  or  two  who 
had  seen  the  portrait  which  hung  in  her  father's 
room  said  that  Ruth  came  honestly  by  her  beauty. 

Yet,  despite  her  ancestry,  Ruth  was  a  child  of  the 
plains.  Motherless  at  three,  she  grew  up  free  as  the 
Northern  air,  unconventional  as  the  wide  plains, 
saucy  as  a  blackbird.  She  was  a  thorn  in  the  side 
of  the  settlement  preachers,  the  dollars  of  whose 

8 


T HE    PROBATIONER 

salary  numbered  less  than  the  pains  she  inflicted 
upon  them. 

One  Sunday  she  came  to  church  clad  in  a  decollete 
gown  which  she  had  fished  from  her  dead  mother's 
belongings,  and  so  horrified  the  preacher  that  he 
broke  down  in  his  sermon.  Another  time  she  sur 
reptitiously  conveyed  cigars  into  meeting  and  helped 
the  boys  to  smoke  them.  She  had  played  dancing 
tunes  on  the  church  organ  after  a  Sabbath  service, 
and  offered  the  minister  the  loan  of  a  yellow-backed 
novel.  All  these  things  and  many  others,  with  ad 
ditions,  subtractions,  surmises,  and  suggestions, 
were  poured  into  the  young  minister's  ears  by  shrewd 
mothers  of  marriageable  daughters,  who  also  main 
tained  that  the  things  the  girl  had  done  were  only 
a  trifle  less  scandalous  than  those  she  had  left  un 
done.  In  view  of  which  revelations  the  calm  coun 
tenance  the  minister  held  at  his  first  meeting  covered 
a  fair  degree  of  nervousness. 

The  attendance  was  large  at  that  meeting.  On 
the  school  benches  were  crowded  the  settlers  from 
twenty  miles  around  —  long,  lean  men,  angular 
women,  and  young  girls  from  whose  tender  bones 
hard  work  and  harder  fare  had  worn  the  flesh.  In 
the  latter,  youth  constituted  the  sole  claim  to  beauty; 
and  as  the  minister  mentally  compared  their  washed- 


THE    PROBATIONER 

out  prettiness  with  the  rich  bloom  of  the  girl  he  met 
on  the  trail,  he  easily  divined  the  source  of  her 
power  over  the  vestry.  As  always,  its  members 
had  paid  conscious  or  unconscious  tribute  to  the 
strongest  influence  which  can  be  brought  to  bear 
upon  their  sex. 

As  he  rose  from  silent  prayer,  he  found  himself 
looking  into  her  face.  She  was  sitting  on  the  front 
bench,  almost  within  reach  of  his  hand.  In  her 
eyes  was  the  quizzical  look  of  their  first  meeting, 
only  to  it  she  had  added  a  touch  of  insolence.  As 
their  eyes  met,  she  turned  and  whispered  to  McCloud, 
who  sat  beside  her: 

"Not  quite  up  to  sample." 

Light  as  it  was,  the  minister  heard,  and  the 
girl  saw  that  he  heard.  She  saw  him  flush,  and 
noted  with  secret  admiration  the  swift  tightening 
of  the  lips  that  controlled  the  sudden  pulse  and 
turned  his  face  to  stone.  In  the  brief  glance  that 
flashed  between  them,  each  read  consciousness  of 
the  situation  and  answered  the  other's  challenge. 
Rising,  the  minister  proceeded  with  the  service. 

After  the  hymns  he  preached  a  sermon  suited  to 
his  hearers,  using  common  words,  freely  illustrating, 
strictly  avoiding  metaphor  and  tricks  of  rhetoric. 
And  as  he  warmed  to  his  work  he  forgot  Ruth, 

10 


THE    PROBATIONER 

McCloud,  and  the  staring,  curious  settlers.  He  saw 
only  a  great  impersonality  that  embodied  sin,  un- 
happiness,  and  all  the  ills  that  man  is  heir  to.  At 
this  he  preached,  counselling,  advising,  exhorting, 
explaining,  laying  down  an  earnest,  practical  rule 
of  life.  As  he  talked,  curiosity  waned  and  gave 
place  to  an  eager,  breathless  interest.  Leaning  for 
ward,  the  people  took  the  words  from  his  lips;  and 
when,  at  the  end  of  an  hour  he  closed  the  Bible,  a 
heavy  sigh  paid  him  the  tribute  of  suspended  breath. 

Now  that  his  eyes  were  once  more  free,  they  drew 
naturally  to  the  front  bench.  Ruth  was  looking 
coldly  indifferent.  He  had  not  seen  her  attempts  at 
calm  abstraction  while  he  was  preaching,  nor  the 
flushing  color  which  marked  her  failure.  Sighing, 
he  rose  and  pronounced  the  benediction. 

While  the  minister  exchanged  greetings  with  their 
wives  and  daughters,  the  vestry-men  discussed  his 
merits  in  the  stable.  Jake  Mattheson — who  was 
boarding  the  minister,  and  therefore  was  biased  in 
his  opinions — opined  that  there  were  "no  'tater-bugs 
crawlin'  on  him."  Si,  Jake's  brother  and  the  biggest 
man  in  the  settlement,  endorsed  the  verdict  in  a 
voice  of  thunder.  Old  Jemmy  Hodges,  a  weazened 
stick  of  a  man,  thought  in  a  high  squeal  that  the 
preaching  sampled  well,  but  cast  his  vote  for  a 

11 


THE    PROBATIONER 

married  minister.  He  always  had  maintained  that 
none  but  a  woman  could  put  kicking-straps  on  Ruth. 
Of  this  Si  Mattheson  was  not  so  sure;  anyway,  he 
was  in  favor  of  giving  the  lad  a  show.  If  he  did  the 
job — well;  if  not,  then  they  could  call  a  married 
man. 

"Let  him  fight  his  fight,"  Si  finished;  "an7  if  he 
wins  out,  I'm  for  callin'  him  for  keeps." 

"So're  we!"  chorused  the  others. 

For  the  next  month  that  fight  went  on  in  rather 
desultory  style.  The  boys  were  feeling  their  man. 
Apart  from  a  little  giggling  in  meeting,  and  one  or 
two  attempts  to  be  funny  at  the  minister's  expense, 
they  had  not  committed  themselves.  And  before 
these  preliminary  skirmishes  developed  into  any 
thing  serious  a  furious  storm  burst  over  the  settle 
ment  and  winter  closed  down  with  the  snap  of  a 
trap. 

It  was  the  hardest  season  in  thirty  years — seven 
white  months,  a  yard  of  snow  on  the  level,  and  a 
mean  temperature  of  thirty-five  below.  Smoke 
columns,  ascending  from  amid  huge  drifts,  marked 
the  sites  of  buried  cabins.  Landmarks  were  obliter 
ated,  and  twenty  feet  of  snow  banked  in  the  bluffs. 
Travel,  except  on  well-beaten  roads,  was  almost 
impossible,  and  social  life — meagre  at  the  best  of 

12 


THE   PROBATIONER 

times — languished.  To  give  this  a  fillip,  and  to 
break  the  monotony  of  existence,  Ritchie  enlisted 
the  aid  of  such  young  folk  as  possessed  talent,  and 
got  up  a  Christmas  entertainment  that  was  to  be 
long  remembered  because  of  certain  numbers  which 
did  not  appear  on  the  programme. 

On  the  night  of  the  social  he  found  Si  Mattheson 
waiting  for  him  outside  the  school. 

"There's  agoin'  to  be  trouble,"  Si  said,  in  a 
rumbling  whisper.  "The  boys  hev  a  keg  in  the 
stable,  an'  they've  been  hittin'  it  hard." 

Ritchie  heard  in  silence.  He  looked  at  the 
school.  Out  of  the  darkness  its  windows  punched 
warm  squares  of  light,  through  the  open  door 
floated  laughter  and  the  hum  of  voices.  Above  him, 
millions  of  cold  stars  gemmed  the  void.  The  north 
wester  breathed  an  icy  breath.  Across  the  north 
Aurora  Borealis  waved  her  shimmering  veils  of  fire. 
He  shivered.  Chicken-hearted,  Si  wondered? 

"Where  is  that  keg?"  Ritchie  suddenly  inquired. 

"Tucked  on  top  o'  the  roof -logs." 

Turning,  the  minister  vanished  in  the  darkness. 
Si  heard  the  stable  door  open,  and  just  about  the 
time  his  slow  wits  began  to  comprehend  the  minis 
ter's  purpose  there  came  a  crash,  a  splash,  and  a 
strong  spirituous  smell  drifted  down  the  wind.  Si 

13 


THE   PROBATIONER 

gasped,  and  before  he  recovered  his  normal  poise 
the  minister's  voice  sounded  close  beside  him. 

"Come  along,"  he  said.  "The  people  are  wait 
ing." 

North,  south,  east,  and  west,  every  trail  had 
poured  the  settlers  into  the  school-house.  It  was 
crammed — men,  women,  and  children  packed  the 
benches  and  lined  the  walls.  In  the  far  corner  a 
score  of  young  men  herded  together;  half  of  these 
were  Canadians,  and  the  remainder  either  English 
remittance-men  or  Barnardo  boys,  grafts  of  the 
London  slums  transplanted  to  a  sterner  and  healthier 
soil.  Their  flushed  faces  proclaimed  the  owners  of 
the  keg  fully  as  much  as  their  actions.  They  were 
playing  rough  jokes  upon  one  another,  and  at  the 
minister's  entrance  they  set  up  a  hoarse  laugh. 

In  a  glance  Ritchie  sized  the  situation;  then,  cool, 
calm,  almost  indifferent,  he  mounted  the  platform 
and  gave  out  the  first  number.  This,  a  quartet,  the 
boys  allowed  to  go  by  without  interference,  applaud 
ing  vociferously  at  its  close;  but  later  in  the  evening 
they  began  to  interject  remarks,  stamping  to  the 
music,  doing  their  utmost  to  confuse  the  perform 
ers.  At  times  they  became  positively  uproarious, 
yet  through  it  all  the  minister  kept  his  head. 

At  the  end  of  each  number  he  rose,  made  some 

14 


THE   PROBATIONER 

happy  comment,  announced  the  next  number,  and 
sat  down  unruffled. 

"He's  got  nerve,"  Jake  Mattheson  whispered 
to  Si. 

"Takes  muscle  to  hold  this  crowd,"  the  latter 
pessimistically  responded. 

At  last  Ritchie  stepped  forward  to  give  his  own 
number — a  humorous  monologue.  Coolly,  as  if 
enjoying  perfect  silence,  he  spoke  the  first  few 
sentences.  They  could  not  be  heard;  still  he  held 
on,  and  soon,  perhaps  moved  by  curiosity,  the  dis 
turbers  abated  their  noise.  Little  by  little  it 
lessened  until  he  had  almost  perfect  order.  It 
appeared  as  if  he  had  won  out;  but  just  when  he 
paused  to  emphasize  a  line,  a  jeer  broke  on  the 
stillness. 

A  hush  followed.  The  remark  contained  so  vile 
an  insult  that  even  the  corner  refused  to  father  it. 
The  people  in  front  turned  sharply  round,  those  in 
the  rear  looked  sheepishly  ahead;  all  were  excited, 
only  the  minister  maintained  his  coolness.  He 
waited  amid  dead  silence.  He  did  not  know  the 
speaker,  but  there  was  no  mistaking  the  accent;  and 
just  when  the  stillness  was  becoming  oppressive  he 
launched  a  retort  that  was  sharper  than  a  locust's 
thorn.  Quick,  apt,  biting,  it  covered  the  principal 

15 


THE   PROBATIONER 

failings  of  a  remittance-man,  and  left  a  ripple  of 
suggestion  flowing  in  its  wake. 

A  roar  of  laughter  followed.  Ritchie's  retort  was 
a  master-stroke.  It  aroused  instantly  the  fierce 
jealousy  which  obtains  between  Briton  and  Colonial, 
and  set  the  corner  by  the  ears.  The  Canadians 
joined  in  the  laugh  against  their  fellows,  and  kept 
good  order  until,  just  when  the  last  number  had 
been  given  out,  a  window  suddenly  flew  up  and  a 
raucous  voice  roared : 

"All  hands  to  take  a  drink!" 

Instantly  the  man  nearest  the  window  vaulted  out; 
then,  feet  first,  headlong,  sideways,  any  way,  just 
as  their  hurry  and  the  press  of  thrusting  hands  per 
mitted,  Barnardo  boys,  Canadians,  and  remittance- 
men  streamed  after.  When  the  last  rolled  over  the 
sill,  Ritchie- rose  to  dismiss  the  meeting,  but  had 
scarcely  spoken  the  last  word  when  an  angry  yell 
rose  on  the  outside,  and  a  scurry  of  feet  came  back 
from  the  stable.  A  whisper  passed  around  the  room. 

"He  spilled  their  liquor,  an'  they're  a  layin'  for 
him!" 

The  minister  went  on  buttoning  his  gloves.  Wom 
en  glanced  fearfully  in  his  direction  and  whispered 
with  their  husbands,  but  these  shook  their  heads. 
It  was  the  minister's  quarrel;  if  he  couldn't  hold  his 

16 


THE    PROBATIONER 

own  he  was  no  good  in  that  settlement.  Curious 
eyes  turned  on  him  as  he  strode  towards  the 
door. 

As  he  passed  out,  his  eye  fell  on  Ruth  Walton. 
Her  face  was  a  study  of  emotion — anger,  fear,  appre 
hension  alternated  in  quick  succession.  Her  eyes 
said  stay,  but  her  proud  red  mouth  locked  firmly 
on  the  words.  In  that  strangely  composite  ex 
pression  he  read  what  he  had  to  expect. 

Smiling,  he  stepped  outside.  A  late  moon  shed  a 
flood  of  silver  on  the  dark  crowd  surging  about  the 
door.  Its  many  faces  were  black  with  anger,  bitter 
with  prejudice. 

"Where  you  agoin'?"  a  voice  growled,  and  a  man 
stumbled  heavily  against  him. 

It  was  McCloud.  Whirling  quickly  round,  Ritchie 
struck  with  all  his  heart — a  smart,  clean  blow  that 
landed  with  a  whiplike  crack  and  drew  a  yell  of 
fierce  delight  from  the  crowding  men. 

"  He'll  fight !"  they  howled.  "  Go  in,  Jim,  an'  give 
him  fits!" 

McCloud  needed  no  prompting.  Recovering  from 
his  surprise,  he  came  with  a  rush;  but,  before  he 
could  strike,  a  heavy  body  split  the  ring;  he  was 
seized  about  the  waist  and  hurled  headlong  in  the 
snow. 

17 


TPIE    PROBATIONER 

"Next!"  Si  Mattheson  roared.  "My  night  out! 
Next!" 

The  crack  of  the  minister's  fist  had  roused  the 
fiercest  fighting-blood  in  sixteen  counties.  The  man 
was  a  berserk.  His  face  gleamed  white  and  stern, 
his  eyes  were  steel  rays,  his  huge  figure  loomed 
larger  in  the  tender  light. 

"Next!"  he  shouted. 

"This  ain't  your  quarrel,"  a  voice  grumbled;  then 
its  owner  fled  precipitately  to  avoid  the  sudden 
clutch  of  the  giant's  hands. 

"No  one?"  Si  challenged,  walking  to  and  fro  in 
the  ring. 

From  the  way  the  crowd  shrank  from  his  threaten 
ing  fist  he  might  have  been  a  giant  of  old  and  they 
pygmies  of  the  fable.  One  or  two  men  on  the  edge 
of  the  ring  slunk  off  to  the  stable.  They  had  seen 
big  Jim  McCloud  lifted  and  shot  like  a  stone  from  a 
sling — that  was  enough.  He  was  slowly  extricating 
himself  from  the  deep  drift  which  had  broken  his  fall. 
Curious  faces  peered  from  the  school  door.  It  was  a 
dark  picture,  and  the  pallid  moon  framed  it  in 
gleaming  silver. 

"Look  here,  Mr.  Mattheson,"  the  minister  said, 
laying  a  hand  on  the  giant's  arm,  "  I'm  perfectly  able 
to  fight  my  own  battles." 

18 


THE    PROBATIONER 

"I  believe  you,"  Si  rumbled,  "but  you  don't  have 
to  when  I'm  around.  Preachin's  your  lay.  Come 
on  now,  won't  you?" 

But  the  ring  scattered  for  the  stable,  from  the 
shadow  of  which  a  voice  yelled : 

"  You  think  you're  smart,  Si  Mattheson,  but  we'll 
ketch  him  alone  one  o'  these  days!" 

"You  will,  will  you?"  Si  growled. 

With  the  rush  of  a  charging  grizzly  he  swept  down 
on  the  stable,  but  before  he  had  covered  half  the 
ground  a  whip  cracked  and  a  double  team  dashed 
off  down  the  trail.  The  sleigh  was  black  with  men, 
and  as  it  flew  along  their  savage  yells  came  floating 
back.  A  minute  and  they  were  out  of  sight;  then, 
one  by  one,  the  settlers  hitched  and  followed. 

"Thet  was  a  right  smart  fillip  you  give  McCloud," 
Jake  Mattheson  said  to  the  minister  as  they  drove 
home,  "an'  it  served  you  well.  Si'd  sooner  fight 
than  eat,  but  he'd  hev  let  the  boys  tear  you  in  bits 
if  you  hedn't  shown  grit.  They'll  shorely  lay  for 
you,"  he  added,  comfortingly. 

Ill 

AND  doubtless  they  would  have  if  opportunity 
had  waited  on  inclination,  but  after  Christmas  an- 

19 


THE   PROBATIONER 

other  wild  storm  burst  over  the  settlement.  For 
ten  days  it  raged  without  let,  and,  though  it  then 
eased  for  a  single  night,  the  next  morning  the  wind 
veered  southeast  and  blew  a  perfect  gale.  Storm 
followed  storm  in  quick  succession;  for  weeks  the 
air  was  thick  as  a  fleece,  and  the  temperatures 
dropped  below  the  record.  In  two  months  the 
mercury  never  once  thawed,  the  spirit  thermometers 
often  read  down  to  sixty-five  below. 

In  the  cabins  meals  froze  on  the  table,  meat  was 
chopped  with  an  axe  for  the  pot,  bread  came  hard 
as  a  brick  from  the  box.  Though  one  might  keep 
from  freezing,  it  was  impossible  to  get  warm.  Men 
sat  close  up  to  red-hot  stoves  that  were  swallowing 
a  cord  of  wood  a  day,  and  yet  shivered  with  the  cold 
at  their  backs.  In  that  frozen  purgatory  passion 
languished,  vendettas  were  laid  aside,  and  petty 
jealousies  dwarfed  to  their  very  seeds. 

At  the  end  of  January  the  leaden  sky  was  still 
feeding  fat  the  drifts.  One  morning  Ritchie  sat  in 
his  little  study  under  the  gable  of  Jake  Mattheson's 
house.  The  window  was  heavily  frosted,  but  by 
breathing  on  a  pane  he  had  cleared  a  spot  through 
which  he  presently  spied  a  dark  object  laboring 
through  the  drift.  A  man  was  coming  along  the 
trail  towards  the  house. 

20 


THE   PROBATIONER 

Springing  up,  Ritchie  ran  down-stairs,  and  as  he 
threw  open  the  door  Si  Mattheson  came  stamping 
along  the  veranda.  "  Any  o'  you  folks  seen  anythin' 
o'  McCloud  of  late?"  he  asked.  "There  warn't  no 
smoke  comin'  from  his  shanty  this  mornin'." 

"Mebbe  he's  away,"  Jake  suggested,  looking  up 
from  his  place  by  the  stove. 

Si  shook  his  head.  "Might  hev  been  teaming 
wood,"  he  allowed,  "but  thet  don't  count.  His 
out  trail  goes  by  my  door,  an'  there  hain't  been  a 
track  on  it  in  three  weeks.  Better  come  along  o' 
me  an'  see  what's  doin'." 

"Wait  a  minute,"  said  Ritchie,  "and  I'll  go  too." 

McCloud,  who  was  a  bachelor,  lived  alone  in  a 
little  log  shanty  a  couple  of  miles  to  the  north  of 
Jake's;  but,  short  as  the  distance  was,  it  took  the 
three  men,  spelling  one  another  on  the  lead,  two 
hours  to  make  it — two  hours  of  heart-breaking, 
wind-trying  labor.  About  the  shanty  there  was  no 
sign  of  life.  The  wind  whirled  the  flying  scud 
drearily  around  its  corners,  the  hissing  drift  flew 
by,  a  huge  white  mound  banked  the  door  to  the 
very  latch. 

"Look's  bad,"  Si  muttered,  as  he  kicked  the  cum 
bering  snow  aside;  then,  as  he  threw  open  the  door, 
he  whistled  his  astonishment. 

21 


THE   PROBATIONER 

Inside,  the  cabin  was  completely  gutted — flooring, 
rafters,  bedstead,  table,  stools,  everything  in 
flammable  was  gone.  The  cold  stove  straddled  two 
floor -joists.  In  the  far  corner,  wrapped  in  his 
blankets,  lay  McCloud. 

A  week  before  he  had  run  out  of  wood,  and,  taking 
advantage  of  a  lift  in  the  drift,  he  had  gone  to  the 
bush  to  cut  a  load.  He  had  to  break  new  trail  all 
the  way,  and  it  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  he 
loaded  on  the  last  stick.  Twice  on  the  way  home 
his  load  upset,  and  as  he  reloaded  the  last  time  the 
wind  rose  and  walled  him  in  circling  clouds  of  snow. 
If  it  had  held  to  the  one  quarter,  he  might  have 
made  his  shanty;  but  presently  the  storm  slewed  to 
the  east. 

No  team  can  face  the  raw  east  wind  when  it 
carries  seventy  degrees  of  frost.  McCloud's  oxen 
fell  off  before  it.  Towards  evening  he  threw  off  his 
load  and  travelled  light,  hoping  to  strike  some  set 
tler's  cabin;  but  his  team  were  headed  away  from 
the  settled  lands.  Hours  of  tumultuous  darkness  en 
sued,  during  which  he  wandered  like  a  lost  soul  in  a 
black  void.  He  felt  himself  freezing,  but  had  no 
remedy  until  a  merciful  shift  of  wind  turned  his  oxen 
home;  and  it  was  midnight  when,  with  badly  frozen 
feet,  he  crawled  into  his  cabin. 

22 


THE    PROBATIONER 

"  Hed  to  hev  a  fire,"  he  said,  looking  sheepishly  at 
the  minister,  "an'  for  the  las'  five  days  I  kept  her 
agoin'  with  the  fixin's.  Burned  'em  all,"  he  added, 
with  a  wave  of  his  hand.  "  Would  hev  started  on 
the  stable  logs,  but  them  plaguey  feet  hold  me 
down." 

While  Jake  and  Si  cut  the  stable  mangers  into 
stove  wood,  Ritchie  examined  McCloud's  feet.  In 
preparing  for  a  frontier  pastorate  he  had  taken  a 
course  in  medicine,  and  he  saw  at  once  that 
while  the  left  foot  might  be  saved,  the  rigrit  was 
hopelessly  frozen.  He  saw  also  what  this  in 
volved.  As  yet  no  railroad  pierced  those  wilds. 
The  nearest  surgeon  practised  in  Winnepeg,  and 
between  him  and  them  lay  two  hundred  miles 
of  drifted  trail.  His  decision  was  quickly 
made. 

"  I  stay  here,"  he  said  to  Jake.  "  Send  my  things 
over  as  soon  as  possible." 

Before  they  left,  Si  and  Jake  tore  up  the  granary 
floor  and  laid  it  in  the  shanty,  and  after  they  were 
gone  the  minister  knocked  up  a  table  and  a  set 
of  stools.  While  he  worked  McCloud  looked  on, 
ashamed.  Once  or  twice  he  shuffled  uneasily,  and 
at  last  that  which  was  on  his  mind  found  expres 
sion. 

23 


THE   PROBATIONER 

"Say,"  he  burst  out,  "would  it  make  you  feel 
any  better  to  lam  me  one  in  the  eye?  If  it  would, 
jes  fire  away." 

When  the  minister  laughingly  refused,  he  seemed 
almost  offended. 

"Wai,"  he  grumbled,  "I  thought  as  you  might 
like  to  get  even.  Anyway,  you  hit  me  one  good 
crack.  Shucks,  didn't  I  see  stars!" 

Through  all  the  next  week  the  minister  carefully 
watched  the  injured  members,  hoping  that  nature 
might  work  a  miracle;  but  when  McCloud  com 
plained  of  dull  pains  in  the  knee  and  hip,  he  knew 
that  the  operation  could  no  longer  be  deferred. 
Already  he  had  gathered  together  such  rude  ap 
pliances  as  the  settlement  afforded,  and  now  he 
called  in  Si  and  Jake. 

"Jim  stood  it  well,"  Jake  said,  describing  the 
operation  to  Jemmy  Hodges;  "but,  Lord,  man;  I 
sickened,  an'  Si  plumb  fainted." 

"An'  the  preacher?"  Jemmy  queried. 

"Didn't  like  it  no  better  than  us,  I  reckon,"  Jake 
answered.  "  His  face  was  white  an'  sot  like  stone, 
but  he  cut  an'  stitched,  an'  ketched  up  them  art'ries 
skilful  as  a  surgeon." 

Jemmy  allowed  that  they  would  stand  some  show 
of  keeping  the  minister  after  this. 

24 


THE   PROBATIONER 

Jake  agreed  with  Jemmy,  and  said  that  the  boys 
were  swearing  by  him. 

Jemmy  dubiously  suggested  Ruth. 

Jake  reckoned  that  she  couldn't  do  nothing  with 
out  the  boys,  and  reminded  Jemmy  ^hat  the  minister 
hadn't  begun  on  her  yet. 

"Ruther  him  nor  me/'  finished  Jemmy. 

".Shore!"  Jake  agreed. 


IV 


FOR  a  week  after  the  operation  McCloud  did  well; 
then,  suddenly,  blood  poisoning  set  in.  The  news 
flashed  through  the  settlement.  For  the  first  time 
since  they  had  been  snatching  their  bread  from  the 
hands  of  the  cruel  North,  death's  shadow  loomed 
over  the  settlers,  and  now  they  pitted  against  it 
the  sullen  determination  that  had  triumphed  over 
frost  and  drought  and  creeping  locust.  One  by 
one,  through  drift  and  blinding  storm,  they  came  to 
offer  aid,  and  none  came  empty  -  handed.  Each 
brought  some  rude  comfort  from  his  scanty  store ; 
but,  while  McCloud  accepted  these,  he  refused  their 
help,  saying  quietly  to  Ritchie : 

25 


THE   PROBATIONER 

"There's  but  one  besides  yourself  as  I'd  like  to 
hev  about  me." 

"Who?"  asked  Ritchie. 

"Ruth,"  he  answered. 

And  as  if  in  answer  to  his  wish,  she  came  that 
night.  The  minister  was  sitting  by  the  bed,  apply 
ing  wet  cloths  to  the  patient's  burning  head,  when 
a  clash  of  bells  sounded  on  the  outside. 

"Walton's!"  McCloud  exclaimed,  sitting  up. 
"He's  the  only  man  as  owns  a  double  string." 

As  he  spoke  the  door  opened  on  Ruth.  On  her 
fur  coat  frost  diamonds  sparkled,  her  face  was  flushed 
from  the  kiss  of  the  breeze. 

"All  right,  dad!"  she  called  through  the  door. 
"Good-bye!"  Then,  walking  over  to  the  bed,  she 
said:  "I've  come  to  nurse  you,  Jim." 

"But,"  the  minister  began,  slightly  shocked  at 
the  novel  situation.  "But — 

"Oh,  it's  all  right,"  she  went  on  with  calm  con 
fidence;  "I've  brought  my  blankets."  Then,  sur 
veying  him  authoritatively,  she  added:  "You're 
just  worn  out.  Go  and  lie  down." 

"But — "  he  stammered. 

"In  that  corner,"  she  went  on.  "Here,  you 
haven't  half  clothes  enough.  Take  my  coat  and 

spread  it  over  your  blankets." 

26 


THE    PROBATIONER 

Without  further  protest  he  obeyed,  and  had 
scarcely  lain  down  before  he  was  fast  asleep. 

When  he  awoke  he  stared  about  him.  The  cabin 
was  transformed.  While  he  slept  Ruth  had  swept 
the  floor,  scrubbed  the  table,  cleaned  the  lamp, 
which  now  shone  resplendent,  and  given  Jim's 
cooking-pans  a  needed  scouring.  Neat  and  clean 
herself,  she  was  getting  breakfast  ready.  A  savory 
smell  of  frying  bacon  filled  the  cabin  and  mingled 
with  the  odors  of  coffee  and  cooking  biscuit. 

"Well!"  the  minister  exclaimed.  "You  are  a 
fairy  godmother!" 

"Looks  homesome,  don't  it?"  McCloud  chuckled 
from  the  bed.  "  Her  ekal  ain't  in  the  county." 

Later,  the  minister  came  almost  to  believe  it,  for 
as  her  days  of  nursing  dragged  on  to  weeks  Ruth 
developed  wonderfully.  The  mother -love  which 
lies  dormant  in  every  girl's  heart  came  into  full 
fruitage.  She  mothered  them  both,  and  though  on 
occasion  her  maternal  authority  trenched  on  the 
bounds  of  tyranny,  it  was  exercised  in  such  a 
sweetly  pretty  way  that  slavery  under  her  would 
have  seemed  an  enviable  condition. .  Other  quali 
ties,  too,  were  expanding  in  the  girl's  nature.  The 
robustness  of  soul  that  made  her  enemy  to  the  milk- 
and-water  type  of  preacher  took  no  offence  at 
3  27 


THE   PROBATIONER 

Ritchie;  and  this  first  great  requirement  once 
satisfied,  a  natural  and  most  feminine  inclination 
towards  refinement  made  her  take  pleasure  in  his 
society.  They  became  fast  friends,  and  their 
friendship  was  none  the  weaker  because  she  had 
found  that  in  most  things  he  was  much  stronger 
than  herself. 

In  moments  when  their  patient  balanced  between 
life  and  death,  she  learned  to  look  to  Ritchie.  One 
night,  in  particular,  she  never  forgot.  McCloud 
was  nearing  a  crisis.  Fever  had  stripped  his  strong 
bones  of  flesh  until  from  sheer  lack  of  fuel  it  had 
burned  itself  out;  only  his  tremendous  vitality 
kept  him  alive.  He  was  lying  motionless,  scarce 
breathing,  but  suddenly,  in  the  middle  of  the  night, 
she  heard  him  calling. 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  bending  over. 

So  faintly  that  she  barely  heard,  he  whispered: 
"Good-bye.  I'm  agoin'." 

Pale,  trembling,  awed  by  this  first  glimpse  of  the 
end  of  life,  she  stood  until  Ritchie  answered  her 
sudden  call.  He  found  that  the  patient's  hands 
were  icy  cold,  chills  were  slowly  crawling  up  his 
limbs;  he  was  surely  dying. 

Stripping  off  his  coat,  the  minister  went  to  work. 

"Rub  his  hands!    Slap  them!"  he  said,  and  the 

28 


THE   PROBATION EK 

masterful  tone  gave  her  a  sudden  thrill  and  re 
stored  her  courage.  "Pour  a  little  of  this  into 
his  mouth." 

He  handed  her  the  whiskey,  while  he  rubbed  the 
man's  body  with  the  fiery  spirit.  An  hour  passed,  a 
second,  a  third,  and  all  the  while  the  faint  spirit 
seemed  to  be  slipping,  slipping,  slipping  farther 
from  its  clay. 

"It  ain't  no  use,"  McCloud  whispered  once. 
"Let  me  go." 

"Nonsense!"  Ritchie  exclaimed,  looking  him  full 
in  the  face.  "You'll  live  to  ride  the  prairies  many 
a  day." 

McCloud's  eyes  wandered  to  his  face;  Ruth,  too, 
looked  there  for  comfort,  for  she  intuitively  felt 
that  death  was  hovering  over  them.  It  was  the 
psychological  moment  when  the  attitude  of  a  sick 
man's  mind  turns  the  balance,  and  the  minister 
knew  it.  Though  morally  certain  that  McCloud 
was  dying,  he  turned  to  the  probing  eyes  a  coun 
tenance  that  was  inscrutable  and  clad  in  a  mask 
of  hope.  At  last  the  patient  spoke. 

"Wai,"  he  faltered,  "I  reckon  you  know  best. 
Here  goes — for — another — try!" 

And  that  try  carried  him  past  the  crisis.  He 
ought  to  have  died;  by  living  he  violated  all  prec- 

29 


THE   PROBATIONER 

edents  known  to  medical  science,  but  live  he  did, 
and,  once  on  the  mend,  the  rude  health  and  virile 
energy  of  the  plainsman  brought  him  a  quick 
convalescence.  By  the  time  that  the  ducks  and 
geese  were  flying  north  he  was  able  to  sit  up,  and  a 
week  after  they  set  him  in  the  warm  sun  by  the 
door.  Then  Ruth  went  home. 

Every  day,  however,  she  rode  over  to  see  how  her 
patient  was  progressing,  and  after  each  visit  the 
minister  would  walk  with  her  as  far  as  the  turn  of 
the  trail.  They  were  now  on  such  friendly  terms 
that  he  felt  at  liberty  to  speak  on  a  matter  which 
had  given  him  some  disquiet.  He  was  beginning  to 
assimilate  the  Western  life.  One  by  one  his  Eastern 
prejudices  had  sloughed  off,  but  as  yet  he  had 
failed  to  accustom  himself  to  her  way  of  riding;  and 
one  day,  just  when  she  was  about  to  leave  him,  he 
looked  up  suddenly  and  said: 

"I  wish  you  wouldn't  ride  like  that." 

"Why?"  she  queried,  and  the  wonder  that  floated 
in  her  eyes  filled  him  with  shame  of  his  prudery. 
"How  should  one  ride?"  she  naively  asked,  and  his 
discomfiture  was  complete. 

"Pardon!"  he  stammered.  "I — I — I  ought  not 
to  have  said  it." 

But  she  pressed  for  an  answer.  When  he  would 
30 


THE   PROBATIONER 

not  give  it,  she  rode  thoughtfully  away.  Next 
morning  she  did  not  come,  nor  the  next,  nor  the 
next.  A  week  passed  by,  and  still  she  did  not 
come.  Once  or  twice  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  her 
when  she  was  riding,  but  always  at  sight  of  him  she 
wheeled  and  rode  away.  He  was  now  sure  that  he 
had  given  her  mortal  offence;  but  he  was  mistaken. 
She  was  seeing  herself  in  his  eyes,  trying  herself  by 
his  standards.  Having  found  out  from  her  father 
how  Eastern  women  ride,  she  tried  their  fashion, 
and  after  a  fourth  tumble  pronounced  it  utterly 
hopeless. 

"Bother!"  she  exclaimed.     "It  must  be  sheep 
those  Easterners  ride!" 


YET,  in  due  course,  the  trouble  worked  out  its 
own  end.  One  morning,  about  sunrise,  when  she 
thought  no  one  would  be  abroad,  Ruth  mounted  her 
pony.  Save  for  an  occasional  drift  in  the  shadow 
of  the  bluffs,  the  snow  was  all  gone.  An  infinite 
greenness  replaced  the  whiteness  and  the  silence. 
From  under  lazy  lids  drowsy  nature  shot  green 
glances;  the  warm  air  vibrated  to  the  song  of  the 

31 


THE   PROBATIONER 

birds,  the  woods  softly  whispered  a  tale  of  sunlight 
glinting  on  the  waters.  The  morning  was  perfect. 
It  called  Ritchie  from  his  bed  and  set  Si  Mattheson 
early  on  the  trail.  He  and  Jemmy  Hodges  were  to 
drive  McCloud  to  Winnipeg,  there  to  be  fitted  with 
an  artificial  foot. 

"Didn't  expect  you  quite  so  soon,"  the  minister 
said,  when  Si  and  Jemmy  passed  him  on  the  trail; 
"but  Jim's  all  ready.  Go  ahead,  I'll  say  good-bye 
when  you  come  back." 

He  was  feeling  that  morning  the  spell  of  the 
prairie — its  mystery,  its  fascination.  Its  vast  roll 
ing  billows  filled  him  with  a  sense  of  peace  and 
power.  Its  infinitude  awed  him;  its  teeming  life, 
revelling  in  the  joy  of  existence,  found  answering  ex 
pression  in  his  own  soul.  On  that  great  expanse  the 
settlers'  cabins  dwarfed  to  coops  in  a  chicken-yard; 
still  each  was  the  prolific  centre  of  motley  noises — 
the  lowing  of  kine,  the  cackle  of  fowls,  the  cries  of 
men.  Far  to  the  south  lay  the  ridge  from  which 
he  had  first  seen  the  settlement.  As  it  caught  his 
eye  he  remembered  the  sudden  sweetness  which 
transfigured  Jake's  rough  face  —  he  understood  it 
now. 

"  It  is  beautiful,"  he  murmured. 

Walking  on,  he  breasted  a  sand-hill.   As  he  crossed 

32 


THE   PROBATIONER 

the  ridge,  Ruth  came  galloping  up  the  rise  with  hair 
streaming  on  the  wind. 

"Aha,  young  lady!"  he  cried,  seizing  her  bridle. 
"Now  I've  got  you.  Tell — why  do  you  run  from 
me?" 

She  looked  rebelliously  from  under  her  cloud  of 
hair.  He  was  tall;  his  eyes  almost  levelled  hers, 
and  she  saw  that  while  they  were  soft,  they  were 
also  very  determined.  Bowing  low,  she  said: 

"  I — I  am  so  different  from  the  women  you  know. 
I — I — cannot — " 

"A-h?"  he  breathed. 

From  her  face  his  eye  passed  over  the  rounded 
bust,  down  all  the  length  of  the  shameless,  shapely 
limbs,  and  brought  up  at  her  foot.  Within  him, 
the  man  and  his  prejudice  battled  fiercely;  but  man 
is  flame  and  woman  is  tow,  and  prairie  winds  blow 
strong.  Up  in  his  nostrils  wafted  a  sudden  sod 
den  smell  of  the  wild  plains;  his  blood  thrilled 
to  the  keen  Northern  air;  in  his  veins  mad 
spring  rioted.  Stooping  quickly,  he  kissed  her 
instep. 

She  flushed  and  trembled  and  leaned  to  him,  her 
eyes  raised  to  his;  but  as  Ritchie  lifted  his  hands 
to  the  yielding  figure  there  came  a  loud  halloa,  and 
Si  Mattheson's  buggy  topped  the  rise. 

33 


THE   PROBATIONER 

"Say,"  Si  rumbled,  eying  them  curiously,  "what 
air  you  two  up  to?" 

"Oh,  shet  up,  Si!"  McCloud  grinned.  "Kain't 
you  see  when  you  ain't  wanted?  Drive  on!" 

Si  whistled,  but  sat  still  and  eyed  the  blushing 
girl  with  a  meditative  grin.  "Thet's  the  way  the 
cat  jumps,  is  it?"  he  muttered  softly.  Then,  fixing 
the  distressed  couple  with  a  fatherly  smile,  he 
addressed  himself  to  Jemmy.  "Say,"  he  said, 
elbowing  that  antediluvian  in  the  ribs,  "don't  you 
reckon  'at  it's  'bout  time  the  vestry  called  this  man 
for  keeps?" 

After  giving  the  subject  the  consideration  its 
gravity  demanded,  Jemmy  still  held  to  his  former 
opinion  that  a  minister  ought  to  be  married. 

Slipping  his  arm  quietly  about  Ruth's  waist,  the 
minister  faced  the  issue. 

"We're  going  to  be  married  next  week,"  he  said. 


A   SON    OF   ANAK 


A   SON    OF   ANAK 


ON  the  verge  of  the  Assiniboine  Valley  a  steam 
thresher  boomed,  and  whined,  and  rattled  its 
slats,  and  whistled  impatiently  for  liquid  wherewith 
to  quench  its  fiery  thirst.  Its  boiler  tubes  were  hot, 
hot  as  the  stoker's  temper — a  hundred  and  eighty 
degrees  by  the  gauge — and  that  son  of  Vulcan 
fretted  as  if  it  were  his  own  bowels  that  suffered 
flame.  Jerking  on  the  whistle,  he  said  scarlet 
things  to  the  water-hauler,  who  transmuted  them 
into  sulphurous  speech  while  dipping  from  the 
river,  eight  hundred  feet  below. 

"Can't  make  steam  without  water!"  growled  the 
stoker,  and  shook  his  fist  at  the  feeder,  who  was 
signalling  for  more  power. 

In  the  midst  of  a  black  smut  pall,  a  forty -inch 
separator  whirled  red  arms  like  a  squib  in  a  cloud 
of  ink.  From  its  brazen  larynx  hurtled  a  vibrant, 
thunderous  song  that  followed  the  feeder's  hand 

37 


THE   PROBATIONER 

both  up  and  down  the  scale.  Many  an  accidental 
split  its  harmonies.  Sometimes  an  awkward  sheaf 
would  crack  a  tone;  an  uncut  band  brought  forth  a 
cough;  and  when,  on  occasion,  a  giant  sheaf  fed 
broadside  in,  the  whole  register  disrupted,  and  the 
monster  bellowed  with  the  voice  of  leviathan. 

At  such  times  the  son  of  Anak  who  fed  the  sheaves 
scowled  blackly — not  that  he  was  angry,  but  rather 
because  the  band-cutter  is  natural  enemy  to  the 
feeder  and  given  to  carelessness  as  the  sparks  fly  up. 
The  band -cutter,  in  his  turn,  spat,  catlike,  and 
blessed  the  pitchers.  For  their  part,  these  worked 
seriously,  tabling  the  sheaves  according  to  the  law 
of  the  band-cutter,  which  is  a  just  law,  though  hard 
to  keep. 

On  the  stack  the  straw -men  labored  in  seas  of 
dust.  Black  clouds  of  it  rose  from  the  belching 
carriers  and  swept  over  the  hurrying,  hustling, 
sweltering  hive,  out  to  the  sunburned  prairies,  there 
to  drape  the  rain- washed  bison-bones.  The  smell 
of  it  travelled  farther — yes,  as  far  as  the  ruined 
fort  of  Ellice,  and  set  Pere  Bay  on  to  sniffing  in  the 
door  of  the  Indian  mission.  It  also  tilted  Lettie 
Greer's  nose  when  she  and  her  cousin,  Kate  Howard, 
ran  down  to  see  the  wheat — at  least,  they  said  it 
was  to  see  the  wheat. 

38 


A   SON   OF   ANAK 

A  flower  of  a  girl  was  Lettie — pink,  plump,  tall, 
with  a  sweet  face  rifting  through  tawny  clouds  of 
hair.  Her  mouth  was  ripe  for  kissing,  though,  ac 
cording  to  report,  it  was  yet  unkissed.  She  was 
modest,  too,  as  became  a  girl  brought  up  in  the 
shadow  of  a  mission;  yet  within  her  were  sprouting 
the  germs  of  a  very  healthy  curiosity  anent  the 
sterner  sex,  as  evidenced  by  this  journey  to  see  the 
wheat. 

Within  the  log  granary  there  was  cool  respite 
from  the  stewy  kitchen  with  its  satiating  smells, 
and  the  girls  sat  on  a  wagon  seat  and  gazed  dreamily 
out  on  the  threshing.  Through  the  plasterless 
chinks  a  breeze  came  to  toy  with  their  hair. 

"  Dear  me !"  mused  Kate.     "  How  busy  they  are!" 

"He's  cutting  bands,"  Lettie  murmured  sym 
pathetically,  if  not  very  consecutively.  Then  she 
peeped  through  a  chink  and  inquired:  "What's  his 
name?" 

"Castle,"  replied  Kate,  joining  her  dark  curls  to 
the  tawny  clouds.  "Castle,  Arthur  Castle." 

Unconscious  of  their  scrutiny,  the  band -cutter 
plied  his  knife.  He  was  a  tall  lad  of  twenty  or 
thereabouts;  fair,  when  freed  from  the  thrall  of 
smut;  a  slip  of  the  blooded  English  stock  one  finds 
scattered  from  Winnipeg  to  Fort  McLeod. 

39 


THE   PROBATIONER 

"Why  don't  they  stop?"  pouted  Kate. 

"Must  finish  to-night,"  Lettie  responded,  wisely. 
"  We've  had  'em  three  days." 

To  which  very  reasonable  statement  Kate  un 
reasonably  replied:  "Bother!  I  wish  the  old 
thing  would  break!"  And  just  then,  as  though  in 
answer  to  her  wish,  the  whistle  blew  and  they 
heard  the  feeder  shout: 

"What's  the  matter?" 

"No  water,"  the  stoker  answered.  "Boiler's 
nigh  to  bustin'." 

Turning  from  the  door,  they  began  to  examine 
the  wheat,  and  they  gave  it  such  close  attention 
that  they  did  not  see  the  feeder  step  from  his  board. 
Letting  a  handful  dribble  through  her  fingers, 
Lettie  remarked,  with  the  air  of  a  connoisseur  in 
grains : 

"Isn't  it  lovely?" 

"Beauti — "  Kate  commenced,  then  stopped  and 
screamed,  for  a  pair  of  hands  grabbed  her  by  the 
ankles  and  tossed  her  into  the  bin.  Then,  full  of 
the  horse-play  which  passed  for  wit  among  his  kind, 
the  feeder  turned  on  Lettie.  She  backed  away,  pro 
testing,  but  he  followed  and  took  her  by  the  waist. 

"Over  you  go!"  he  laughed. 

She  landed  high  up  in  the  bin,  and  came  slipping, 

40 


A   SON   OF   ANAK 

sliding  down  on  an  avalanche  of  wheat.  It  was 
very  mortifying.  To  make  it  worse,  as  she  struggled 
up,  dishevelled,  angry,  ready  to  cry,  she  saw  Castle 
standing  in  the  door.  His  face  shone  beneath  its 
layer  of  soot. 

"You  beastly  cad!"  he  gasped.  "You  beastly 
cad!" 

The  feeder  turned,  and  civilization  and  the  back 
woods  faced  together. 

"Who's  pinching  you?"  he  sneered.  "Mind 
your  own — "  "Business,"  he  meant  to  say,  but 
Castle's  fist  shot  out  and  landed  with  a  whip-like 
crack. 

It  was  a  smart  rap,  too,  given  from  a  full  heart, 
and,  though  it  lacked  weight,  the  suddenness  of  it 
sent  the  feeder  staggering  against  the  farther  bin. 
There  he  paused,  momentarily  paralyzed,  blank 
astonishment  and  black  anger  darkening  his  face; 
but  when  he  straightened  from  the  blow,  he  seized 
a  neck-yoke  and  swung  it  viciously. 

With  a  swish  it  cut  the  air  just  above  Castle's 
head.  The  girls  screamed.  A  clever  duck  saved 
Castle  his  brains,  but  as  he  backed  towards  the  door 
the  feeder  followed,  swinging  for  another  blow. 

But  the  scream  had  reached  a  score  of  ears. 
Before  he  could  strike  again  there  came  a  rush  of 

41 


THE   PROBATIONER 

feet,  a  dozen  heads  blocked  the  door,  and  the  boss 
thresher  jerked  Castle  back  and  out. 

"What's  the  matter,  Sutherland?"  growled  the 
boss. 

"Oh,  nothin'!"  muttered  the  feeder,  shouldering 
his  way  through  the  crowd,  and  he  followed  the 
band-cutter  back  to  the  machine. 

"What's  the  trouble,  girls?"  persisted  the  boss. 

But  just  then  the  water-hauler  drew  round  to  the 
engine,  the  whistle  called  to  work,  and  the  girls 
remembered  some  pies  which  must  be  burning  in 
the  oven.  As  they  ran  by  the  separator,  Suther 
land  turned  his  back  and  swept  a  pile  of  sheaves  into 
the  screaming  cylinder. 

"You  can  hev  all  the  power  you  want!"  yelled 
the  stoker. 

He  nodded  and  went  on  rolling  the  loosened 
sheaves,  feeding  steadily,  coaxing,  urging,  pressing, 
holding  the  thunderous  voice  down  to  a  stifled, 
choking  hum.  When  the  boss  thresher  came  to 
"spell"  him,  he  shook  his  head  and  fed  on,  and  on, 
and  on,  until  the  sweat  washed  white  runlets  down 
his  face.  And  while  he  worked  he  thought. 

Why,  he  asked  himself,  did  the  girl  make  such  a 
fuss?  In  the  backwoods  that  sired  him  they  never 
cared.  Why  should  these?  Perhaps  they  didn't. 

42 


A   SON   OF   ANAK 

Perhaps  it  was  all  due  to  the  Englishman  with  his 
finicky  ways.  So  he  puzzled  until  the  sun  slipped 
in  a  blanket  of  umber  and  gold  over  the  edge  of  the 
world,  and  dusk  lent  velvet  shades  to  the  threshing 
reek. 

But  at  supper  Sutherland  quickly  learned  in 
whom  the  fault  lay.  He  found  himself  studiously 
neglected.  While  the  girls  waited  on  the  other  men, 
a  hard-featured  neighbor  woman  supplied  his  needs. 
And  he  noted  that  his  rival  received  many  small 
favors.  Kate  kept  his  plate  heaped,  and  when 
Lettie  leaned  for  an  empty  dish,  her  arm  touched 
his  neck.  Three  times  this  happened,  and  every 
time  the  feeder  choked.  Yet  he  ate  mechanically 
the  things  which  were  put  to  his  hand,  swallowed 
boiling  tea  without  a  wink,  and  got  through  the 
meal  somehow. 

After  it  was  eaten  he  lit  a  lantern  and  touched 
Castle  on  the  shoulder. 

"Chore  time!"  he  growled.  "Them  bosses  is 
cool  enough  for  oats  by  this." 

As  the  door  closed  behind  them  the  girls  ex 
changed  uneasy  glances,  and  a  man  said,  with  a  lift 
of  the  brow,  "How  about  that?" 

The  boss  thresher  took  the  question  to  himself, 
and  answered: 

4  43 


THE   PROBATIONER 

"  Oh,  I  reckon  it's  all  right.  Sutherland's  a  good 
sort,  an'  he's  had  time  to  cool.  Besides,"  he  added, 
with  a  touch  of  the  strong  man's  philosophy, 
"they've  gotter  settle  it  some  day." 

In  the  stable  Sutherland  hung  up  his  lantern  and 
faced  about.  "I  s'pose,"  he  said,  quietly,  "as 
you're  lookin'  for  a  fight?"  Castle  nodded  and 
began  to  peel  his  coat.  "Oh,  there's  no  hurry," 
the  feeder  went  on.  "Of  course,  I  reckon  to  pay 
you  some  day,  but  not  jes  now.  But  say" — and 
here  the  puzzle  of  his  brain  slipped  into  his  eyes— 
"what  made  them  girls  so  all-fired  mad?" 

The  Englishman  stared.  It  was  incredible !  Yet 
the  man's  blue  eyes  were  wide  with  question,  and  his 
face  carried  the  look  of  a  child  corrected  for  mis 
chief  innocently  done.  Into  Castle's  consciousness 
crept  a  vague  conception  of  the  workings  of  a 
Western  mind,  and  with  it  a  feeling  of  pity. 

"W-well,"  he  stammered,  "to— to  tell  you  the 
truth—" 

"That's  what!"  encouraged  the  Canadian. 
"Speak  out!  I'm  like  a  blind  hoss  that's  off  the 
trail,  an'  I  want  my  bearin's." 

"  Well,  you  were — just  a  little  rough." 

"That  was  it?" 

"It  was." 

44 


A   SON   OF   ANAK 

The  big  man  whistled.  "Well,  I'm—"  he  began, 
but  paused,  and  then  went  on:  "Jes  to  think! 
Why,  the  girls  in  the  stump  townships  didn't  mind 
it  a  bit.  Reckoned  it  a  ripping  joke!  Not  that 
these  ain't  right,"  he  added,  hastily.  "They're  dif 
ferent,  kind  of  eddicated,  got  more  polish  to  'em." 

Leaning  against  a  stall,  Sutherland  chewed  a 
straw  and  the  cud  of  reflection,  and  evidently  made 
emendations  in  his  theory  of  manners;  for  when 
Castle  brought  the  horses  from  water  he  burst  out: 

"Say,  put  me  down  the  darnedest  fool  in  Mani 
toba!  As  for  that  crack  on  the  law — let  it  go  on 
account  of  eddication.  An',  what's  more,"  he 
finished,  holding  out  his  hand,  "jes  so  long  as  we 
travel  with  this  outfit  I'll  be  etarnally  obliged  if 
you  lam  me  whenever  I  straddle  the  traces."  And 
on  this  bargain  they  slept. 

Now,  healthy  girls  and  well-fed  robins  sing  in  the 
early  morning,  and  Lettie  sang  as  she  skimmed  the 
milk.  From  the  stables  came  the  din  of  the  thresh 
er's  moving— blows  and  bangings,  men's  voices, 
the  rattle  of  the  carriers,  the  stroke  of  the  sled.  In 
the  east  a  red  sun  smouldered.  Down  into  the  milk- 
house  it  shot  a  crimson  ray  and  clothed  the  singing 
girl  in  ruby  light.  Sutherland,  who  just  then 

45 


THE   PROBATIONER 

peeped  in,  thought  her  the  fairest  thing  on  earth. 
Though  his  shadow  fell  athwart  her  crock,  she  went 
on  floating  in  the  clotted  cream,  and  remarked, 
without  looking  up : 

"He's  going,  Kate,  but  I  can't  cry!" 

A  masculine  cough  made  her  sensible  of  her  mis 
take,  and  brought  her,  confused  but  extremely 
dignified,  to  her  feet.  "  Well?"  she  queried. 

The  interrogation  reduced  Sutherland  to  a  con 
dition  of  at  least  partial  imbecility.  He  coughed 
again,  and  shuffled,  and  his  face — which  he  had 
washed  very  clean — rivalled  the  rising  sun.  He 
strove  to  get  hold  of  the  right  end  of  a  little  speech 
that  he  had  been  conning  over  the  last  two  hours. 
Castle  composed  it,  that  morning,  in  the  dark  stable, 
before  breakfast. 

"I  was  wanting  to  say,  miss,"  he  began;  then, 
glancing  up,  he  caught  her  eye,  floundered,  and 
finished  very  lamely — "I'm  real  sorry!" 

But  his  manner  pleaded  as  words  could  not. 
Lettie's  eyes  softened,  and  her  lips  drooped  into 
their  gentler  curves,  but  she  answered,  very 
gravely : 

"You  were  extremely  rude." 

He  made  no  reply.  A  bewilderingly  small  foot 
was  tapping  the  ground  just  beyond  her  skirt— 

46 


A   SON   OF    ANAK 

enough  in  itself  to  deprive  a  man  of  the  power  of 
speech. 

"And  if  I  overlook  it,"  she  continued,  rather  en 
joying  her  sudden  accession  of  power,  "I  shall  ex 
pect  you  to  be  friendly  with  Mr.  Castle." 

"Oh,  that's  all  right!"  he  exclaimed,  immensely 
relieved.  "I'll  bring  him  safe  back." 

"Oh,  he's  nothing  to  me!"  she  hastily  replied, 
adding,  with  some  confusion:  "That  is — well — you 
know,  I  meant,  I  shouldn't  like  to  have  him  ill 
treated." 

"Jes  so,"  he  cheerfully  answered,  "an'  I'll 
smash  any  one  as  lays  a  finger  on  him!  But  there 
goes  the  engine.  Good-bye,  miss!" 

"Good-bye,"  she  answered,  and  watched  him  join 
the  outfit. 

Up  the  slope  from  the  stables  came  the  engine, 
with  its  double  yoke  of  oxen  hawing,  geeing,  swing 
ing  right  and  left  in  vain  attempts  to  avoid  both 
the  curse  of  labor  and  the  driver's  cutting  whip. 
After  they  had  crossed  the  ridge  and  lumbered 
down  the  other  side,  the  thresher's  black  shire  mares 
snapped  the  separator  up  the  hill,  striking  fire  from 
its  face.  Sutherland  handled  the  team,  while  Castle 
walked  near  by.  Beside  the  feeder  he  appeared 
frail,  almost  boyish,  and  though  his  refined  air 

47 


THE   PROBATIONER 

caught  the  girl's  fancy,  her  woman's  instinct — in 
herited  of  a  thousand  generations — leaned  to  the 
man's  strength. 

A  long  move  the  outfit  made  that  day — long  even 
for  Manitoba,  where  a  horse  reels  off  his  seventy 
miles  a  day  and  a  man's  neighborhood  encircles 
twenty  miles ;  but  it  was  not  long  enough  to  quench 
the  sudden  interest  Castle  developed  in  the  Ellice 
Mission  service,  nor  to  stop  Sutherland  from  riding 
once  a  week  to  his  homestead  on  the  Assiniboine. 
This,  a  quarter-section  of  sand  and  gopher — pinned 
down,  as  it  were,  and  eternally  prevented  from 
dribbling  over  the  valley's  edge  by  the  lone  log- 
cabin  that  staked  its  centre — lay  an  hour's  ride  to 
the  south  of  Greer's. 

Its  seductions  could  hardly  be  accountable  for 
its  owner's  Sabbath  rides,  nor  is  it  to  be  wondered 
at  if  he  never  got  there.  For,  as  the  luck  had  it,  his 
trail  ran  in  between  Greer's  house  and  stable,  and 
the  law  of  the  bachelor  will  not  allow  a  wifeless  man 
to  pass  the  house  of  a  wedded  woman  without 
tasting  of  her  bread.  Thus,  when  Castle  escorted 
Lettie  home  from  mass,  he  invariably  found  the 
feeder  discussing  seed  grains,  gopher  poisons,  or 
kindred  interesting  matters  with  her  father. 

And  each  wooed  the  girl  after  his  own  fashion — 
48 


A   SON    OF    ANAK 

one  in  words,  with  all  the  advantage  conferred  by 
education;  the  other  in  the  dumb  language  of  the 
eye.  Lettie,  for  her  part,  held  the  balance  and 
distributed  her  favors  so  impartially  as  to  puzzle 
even  her  mother.  Perhaps  she  was  puzzled  her 
self.  At  any  rate,  she  walked  in  maiden  mystery, 
veiling  her  thoughts — a  sad  enigma  to  her  parents, 
a  sweet  trouble  to  her  lovers. 

Up  Miniska  way,  these  soon  began  to  taste  the 
joys  of  threshing  at  temperatures  that  froze  the 
mercury.  About  their  settings  stretched  limitless 
wastes,  seas  of  white  that  curved  from  the  skyline 
clear  to  the  frozen  pole.  On  unthreshed  farms  the 
stacks  upreared  like  hills  of  snow,  putting  by 
contrast  a  bright  vermilion  blush  upon  the  dirty 
separator. 

The  water-hauler  had  forsaken  wheels  for  runners, 
and  moved  like  a  blue  iceberg.  The  stoker  had 
swathed  his  beloved  engine  in  swaddling-clothes. 
He  warmed  him  by  banging  the  ice  from  his 
water-barrels,  and  in  the  intervals  of  chopping  wood 
cursed  the  cold  that  lowered  his  steam.  And  as 
these  were  the  early  snows,  and  the  trails  lay  be 
neath  a  foot  of  drift,  the  siege  of  Lettie  was  raised 
for  the  space  of  a  lunar  month. 

One  day  a  thing  happened  which  came  nigh  to 
49 


THE   PROBATIONER 

putting  Sutherland  out  of  the  running  for  good  and 
all.  From  every  sheaf,  as  it  struck  the  table,  snow 
and  dust  sifted  down  and  packed  into  a  slippery 
mass  beneath  his  feet.  At  the  length  of  his  arm 
the  iron -toothed  cylinder  whirled  two  thousand 
times  a  minute;  and  he,  while  reaching  for  a  sheaf, 
slipped  and  plunged  forward.  A  moment's  hesita 
tion  and  he  had  been  done;  but  as  his  body  struck 
the  feed-board  Castle  seized  him  and  threw  wildly 
back. 

Sutherland  rose  from  the  snow.  The  cylinder 
had  caught  and  ripped  away  his  buckskin  mit;  the 
blood  ran  freely  from  a  mangled  finger. 

"A  close  shave,"  he  said,  slowly;  " an'  but  for  you 
— no  shave  at  all.  An'  what's  more,"  he  finished, 
with  a  jerk  of  his  shoulder  towards  the  south, 
"there's  many  a  man,  seeing  the  way  things  is 
fixed,  as  would  have  waited  to  cut  another  band." 

On  the  third  day  of  the  following  week  the  first 
blizzard  swept  from  the  north  and  snowed  the  outfit 
in  for  keeps.  The  drift  flew  by  thick  as  fleece,  and 
all  signs  pointed  to  a  three  days'  blow;  but  early 
in  the  morning  of  the  second  day  it  slacked  suf 
ficiently  for  the  boss  to  drive  the  threshers  in  to 
Russel.  There  he  paid  off— a  wise  action,  which 
earned  him  the  applause  of  the  burgesses  and 

50 


A   SON   OF   ANAK 

also  promoted  the  prosperity  of  the  hotel,  in  which 
he  owned  a  half-interest. 

Sutherland  and  Castle  were  not  among  the  rois 
terers  at  his  bar.  They  sat  one  on  either  side  of  the 
stove,  watching  the  storm  and  talking  in  low  tones. 

"Yes,"  the  feeder  was  saying,  "we'd  just  as  well 
settle  the  thing  now.  In  my  time  I've  been  a  no- 
account  sort — that  kind" — lifting  his  brow  at  the 
half -drunken  threshers — "but  that's  old  hist'ry. 
Not  saying  that  I  ain't  a  fool  to  even  think  of  her, 
but — God,  man,  I  could  burn  for  her!" 

He  stared  for  a  while  on  the  white  and  whirling 
drift,  and  then  resumed. 

"  Of  course  that  don't  count,  an'  this  is  how  the 
business  stan's,  according  to  my  idea.  But  for  you 
I'd  never  trouble  man  nor  woman  more;  therefore 
to  you  falls  the  first  chance.  Now — " 

"No,  no!"  Castle  interrupted.  "I  won't  have  that!" 

But  the  other  was  the  stronger.  "  Yes,  you  will," 
he  rejoined,  "for  I'm  jes  a-goin'  down  to  my  own 
place,  an'  there  I  stay  till  you  come  an'  say  you've 
played  your  hand." 

Silence  fell  between  them,  and  held  until  Castle 
broke  it.  "Think  we  can  strike  out  to-day?"  he 
asked. 

Sutherland  studied   the   flying  drift.     "It  does 

51 


THE    PROBATIONER 

seem  to  be  thinning,"  he  said  at  last.     "I  reckon 
we  could  make  Nork's  road-house  for  the  night." 

In  half  an  hour  it  lightened  still  more,  and  the  two 
started  south  afoot.  A  line  of  grassless  white  alone 
marked  trail  from  prairie,  but  this  they  followed 
easily  enough  until,  after  an  hour's  tramp,  the 
wind  raised  and  the  drift  thickened. 

"Think  we'd  better  go  on?"  Castle  inquired. 

"Have  to!"  Sutherland  answered. 

A  look  to  the  north  gave  his  reason.  The  stinging 
drift  filled  Castle's  eyes,  the  wind  smote  him  foully, 
the  frost  tweaked  him  by  the  nose.  As  they 
plunged  steadily  south,  the  roar  of  the  wind  rose  to 
a  muffled  shriek.  From  the  bluffs  it  tore  the  ten- 
foot  drifts,  from  the  prairie  a  foot  of  snow,  and  it 
stirred  the  mass  and  whirled  it  round  and  round 
until  the  air  was  thick  as  cheese. 

Still  they  pressed  on,  Sutherland  in  the  lead.  He 
was  off  the  trail  now,  and  knew  it,  but  he  kept  the 
wind  slanting  to  his  cheek,  steered  southeast,  and 
trusted  to  strike  Nork's  mile-long  fence.  If  the 
wind  had  held,  they  would  have  struck  it;  but  in 
the  middle  of  the  afternoon  it  veered  due  east,  and 
sent  them  miles  off  their  course. 

In  the  black  of  night,  amid  darkness  thick  enough 
to  cut,  they  stumbled  by  the  road-house.  Around 

52 


A   SON    OF   ANAK 

them  the  drift  whirled  and  twisted,  working  up  the 
pivotal  motion  which  keeps  the  wanderer  on  a  circle. 
Once  they  tried  to  make  a  fire  in  a  bluff,  and  spent 
their  matches  on  its  green  and  sappy  wood.  And  it 
grew  colder,  colder,  colder,  until,  at  daybreak,  it 
registered  forty  and  odd  below. 

They  were  out  on  the  desolate  Alkali  Flats  when 
gray  dawn  banished  the  inky  blackness,  but  they 
had  no  surcease  from  the  bitter  blast,  the  stinging 
spume,  the  searing  frost.  They  moved  now  slowly, 
wearily,  automatically  lifting  their  feet,  wandering 
like  sinful  souls  in  a  frozen  purgatory.  Castle  was 
nearly  spent.  In  the  early  morning  he  fell  forward 
and  began  to  lick  snow — he  was  marked  for  the 
white  death. 

"Let  me  sleep!"  his  tired  body  cried.  "Let  me 
die!"  his  weary  spirit  echoed. 

But  Sutherland  forced  him  up  and  on.  When 
persuasion  failed,  he  slipped  his  belt  and  laid  on  the 
buckle  end.  Thus,  as  men  in  a  dream,  they  wrought 
out  their  travail,  and  thus,  dreamlike,  they  found 
themselves  gazing  stupidly  upon  an  Indian  tepee. 
Now  standing  out  dirty,  black  against  the  snow,  now 
veiled  in  fleecy  scud,  it  loomed  through  the  drab  of 
the  drift  like  a  mirage  or  a  portion  of  their  dream. 

Before  its  entrance  stood  a  jumper,  a  native  sled, 
53 


THE   PROBATIONER 

but  around  the  place  was  neither  sound  nor  sign 
of  life.  The  flaps  were  laced  with  frozen  shaganappy 
thongs,  hard  as  boards;  yet,  somehow,  Sutherland 
fumbled  them  loose  and  pushed  Castle  in.  Then  he 
followed  into  the  presence  of  the  coldest  host  that 
ever  welcomed  man  from  storm. 

At  their  feet,  stark  naked,  lay  a  young  Cree 
squaw,  and  beside  her,  wrapped  in  the  blankets  she 
had  stripped  from  her  limbs,  was  a  dead  papoose. 
Cold,  stiff,  hard  as  statues  of  bronze,  they  stared  up 
in  Sutherland's  face. 

"Poor  girl!"  he  muttered,  laying  his  hand  on  the 
blankets.  "Pony  strayed,  an'  your  man  went  to 
hunt  it.  Well,  I  reckon  you  don't  want  these  any 
more.  Here,  Castle!  Lend  a  hand  to  lift  her." 
But  Castle  was  down,  and  as  still  as  the  dead 
woman. 

Sutherland  swung  his  belt.  "Get  up!"  he  cried. 
"Get  up!  Get  up!" 

The  lad  moaned,  without  opening  his  eyes,  and  the 
feeder  stood,  belt  in  hand,  staring  gloomily  down 
upon  him.  "Clean  tuckered  out!"  he  groaned. 
"What  '11  I  do?" 

Through  the  open  flap  the  fine  drift  spume  poured 
and  powdered  alike  the  quick  and  the  dead.  Out 
side  the  blizzard  thundered  wildly  by;  within  the 

54 


A   SON   OF   ANAK 

strong  man  wrestled  with  a  sudden  darkling  thought. 
A  minute  passed — two — then  he  stepped  out  and 
walked  rapidly  away;  but  before  he  had  covered  a 
score  of  yards  he  stopped,  returned,  and  bent  on 
his  rival  the  same  frowning  stare. 

Once  more  he  left,  resolutely  this  time,  yet  halted 
again  at  fifty  yards  and  slowly  retraced  his  steps. 

About  noon  of  the  third  day  the  wind  lowered 
and  the  drift  lightened  sufficiently  for  Pere  Bayon 
to  make  his  way  as  far  as  Greer's.  It  was  cold  yet, 
to  be  sure,  but  a  layer  of  comfortable  fat  kept  the 
good  father  snug  and  warm;  so,  like  a  red-cheeked 
Christmas  god,  he  waddled  through  the  snow. 

"For  the  land  sakes!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Greer, 
when  he  entered  her  kitchen.  "  What  brings  you  out, 
father?" 

"There's  something  moving  over  the  valley,"  he 
answered,  closing  the  storm-door.  "Lend  me  your 
glasses,  daughter." 

Lettie  handed  down  the  binoculars  from  their 
place  beside  the  clock,  and  said,  "  If  you'll  wait  a 
minute,  I'll  go,  too." 

While  she  slipped  on  her  moccasins,  Pere  Bayon 
warmed  his  hands  and  looked  smilingly  on.  He 
was  proud  of  Lettie.  He  christened  her;  from  him 

55 


THE   PROBATIONER 

she  received  her  first  communion;  and  his  careful 
hand  had  trained  her  until  she  bloomed  like  a  sun- 
kissed  peach  on  the  pleasant  side  of  a  convent  wall. 

"Come  along!"  she  cried.  "I'll  race  you  to  the 
stack!" 

Under  its  lee  they  took  shelter  from  the  wind. 
From  their  feet  the  valley  sheered  down  to  the 
drift  haze  which  shrouded  the  bottoms  and  the 
frozen  river.  They  could  hear  the  stream  complain 
ing  beneath  its  frozen  bonds.  Opposite,  the  bald 
headlands  plumped  up,  round,  swelling,  chastely 
beautiful,  like  the  breast  of  a  proud  woman.  But 
something  else  drew  their  eyes — a  black  spot  that 
moved  along  the  farther  slope,  just  where  the  crown 
ing  bank  cut  the  sky-line. 

"Must  be  a  wolf,"  Lettie  said.  "No  man  would 
cross  the  trail  that  fashion." 

The  priest  was  focusing  the  glasses.  "I  have 
known  men  to  do  it,"  he  replied. 

A  moment  later  an  exclamation  brought  her  to 
his  side. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked. 

"Look  yourself." 

She  raised  the  glasses,  and  instantly,  through  the 
drab  of  the  drift,  there  loomed  up  the  misty  figure 
of  a  giant  man.  He  was  stumbling  along  the  trail, 

56 


A   SON   OF   ANAK 

sometimes  in  it,  more  often  off,  dragging  an  Indian 
jumper. 

"Why,"  she  exclaimed,  "it's  Sutherland!  What 
can  have  happened?" 

"Look  again,"  said  the  priest. 

"  He's  hauling  a  sled.  Now  he's  staggering;  oh! " 
— catching  her  breath — "he's  fallen!  There,  he's 
up  again !  Now  he's  made  the  ravine.  He's  stretch 
ing  on  the  sled — going  to  coast  the  hill." 

"Needs  a  clear  head,"  murmured  Pere  Bayon. 

Slowly  the  sled  moved  off,  but  soon  increased  its 
speed  until  it  fairly  flew.  Half-way  down  it  vanished 
in  a  black  ravine,  and  the  watchers  held  their  breath ; 
then  out  from  the  dark  of  the  trees  it  swooped 
like  a  pouncing  hawk,  rounded  the  bottom  curve, 
and  shot  the  bank. 

"Where's  your  father?"  hastily  inquired  the 
priest. 

"  Cleaning  stablee." 

"Then  run  and  tell  him  to  hitch  the  ponies. 
I'll  go  on." 

He  ran  heavily  down  the  valley  trail,  but  Lettie 
made  such  speed  that  the  ponies  overtook  him  on 
the  flats.  A  minute  later  they  pulled  up  at  the 
frozen  ford,  and  Lettie  held  the  lines  while  her 
father  broke  a  trail  through  the  drift. 

57 


THE    PROBATIONER 

"Why/'  he  exclaimed,  "there's  two  of  'em!" 

Swathed  in  the  dead  squaw's  blankets,  Castle  lay 
beside  the  broken  jumper.  Over  his  face  Suther 
land  had  thrown  an  arm.  His  own  was  turned 
upward  to  the  storm— white,  deathly  white,  with 
the  whiteness  of  freezing  flesh.  When  moved,  he 
groaned;  but  neither  sob  nor  sigh  told  that  the 
spirit  yet  lingered  in  the  body  of  the  other. 

In  ten  minutes  the  two  were  lying  in  shake-downs 
in  Greer's  kitchen.  Both  were  badly  frozen,  and 
for  two  long  hours  the  farmer  and  the  priest  rubbed, 
and  chafed,  and  soaked  frozen  limbs  in  kerosene, 
and  applied  all  the  remedies  proved  of  prairie  sur 
gery.  Just  before  dark,  when  the  sufferers  slipped 
their  agony  for  heavy  sleep,  Pere  Bayon  straightened 
his  weary  back  and  plodded  back  to  the  mission. 

"  Some  one  '11  have  to  sit  up,"  said  Greer.  "  They're 
quiet  now,  but  soon  the  fever  '11  take  'em." 

"Let  me,"  begged  Lettie. 

Her  mother  looked  dubious,  and  remarked,  tenta 
tively,  "They'll  mebbe  wander  a  little." 

" Oh,  I  won't  mind!    An'  dad  will  be  in  easy  call." 

After  the  old  folks  climbed  the  stairs  to  bed,  she 
did  feel  a  little  nervous.  In  the  chimney  the 
nor'wester  wailed  sadly;  across  the  floor  black 
shadows  flitted.  Outside  the  drift  hissed  by.  The 

58 


A   SON   OF   ANAK 

clouded  windows  rattled,  and  about  the  door  every 
bit  of  iron  was  bossed  with  glittering  frost.  Yet 
she  sat  by  the  fire,  picking  pictures  from  the  glow 
ing  coals,  until  a  voice  babbled  into  sudden  talk. 

She  rose  hastily,  every  nerve  thrilling.  Suther 
land  was  sitting  up  in  bed.  He  had  torn  the 
bandage  from  his  face;  his  red  eyes  peered  into  the 
darkest  corner;  he  spoke  in  low  but  earnest  tones. 

"  Get  up !    Get  up !    Get  up,  I  say !" 

She  stepped  quickly  to  the  stairs;  but  before  she 
could  call,  her  own  name  fell  from  the  man's  lips. 
She  hesitated.  He  called  again,  gently,  and  curi 
osity  balanced  fear.  Quietly  closing  the  door,  she 
tiptoed  to  his  bed. 

"  Yes?"  she  said. 

He  knew  her,  but  incorporated  her  personality  in 
his  dream.  "Ah,  there  she  is!"  he  sighed.  "Come 
for  him!"  Then,  sinking  back,  he  closed  his  eyes. 

But  Lettie  was  not  more  than  seated  before  he 
was  again  unravelling  his  tangled  skein  of  thought. 
"I  could  leave  him,"  he  pondered,  frowning 
heavily.  "Who'd  know?  One  night  alone,  an' — 
why  not?"  He  swayed  from  side  to  side  while  his 
heated  mind  duplicated  every  detail  of  the  mental 
struggle  in  the  tepee.  Then,  with  a  wild  toss  of  the 
hands,  he  cried,  bitterly: 
s  59 


THE    PROBATIONER 

"God!    I  promised  her  to  bring  him  back!" 

In  this  fashion,  bit  by  bit,  with  many  breaks  and 
pauses,  Lettie  gathered  from  the  man's  own  lips  the 
story  of  his  love,  his  trial,  and  his  temptation.  As 
the  night  wore  on  and  the  fire  died  and  the  shadows 
slid  forth  to  play  about  the  room,  she  came  to  know 
him ;  and  when  at  last  gray  morning  stole  through  the 
whitened  panes,  it  found  her  kneeling  by  his  bed. 

On  his  frost-scarred  face  the  chill  rays  softly  fell. 
One  arm  lay  beneath  his  head ;  the  sleeve  had  rolled 
from  the  other,  baring  writhing  bands  and  knots 
of  muscle.  She  wondered  at  its  strength.  His  face 
was  thinner,  too.  Strife,  struggle,  and  mental  trav 
ail  had  refined  it;  his  mouth  was  lined  with  sorrow. 
And  these  lines,  as  she  brooded  over  him,  let  loose  a 
flood  of  love  and  tender  sympathy. 

A  rosy  flush  banished  the  watcher's  pallor;  her 
head  drooped  lower,  lower,  lower,  until  its  tawny 
clouds  hid  his  face. 

He  stirred;  but  a  moment  later,  when  his  eyes 
opened,  she  was  smoothing  Castle's  pillow.  He 
could  not  see  her  face,  but  he  saw  her  hand  fondle 
the  lad's  tangled  curls.  How  should  he  know  that 
it  was  done  for  love  of  him?  He  turned  his  back 
and  groaned. 

"You're  in  pain?"  she  asked,  anxiously. 

60 


A   SON   OF   ANAK 

"A  twinge/'  he  answered,  and  just  then  Mrs. 
Greer  came  down-stairs. 

"Now  you  go  right  to  bed,  child,"  she  said,  "an' 
get  some  sleep." 

But  sleep  was  not  for  Lettie.  She  lay,  quietly 
happy,  dreaming  her  love-dreams,  until  a  decent 
interval  elapsed;  then,  hungry  for  another  look  at 
their  subject,  she  dressed  and  stole  down-stairs. 

Sutherland's  bed  was  empty. 

"He's  gone,"  said  her  mother,  in  reply  to  her 
startled  look.  "  Jes'  wouldn't  wait  another  minute. 
I  never  did  see  sech  a  man!" 

While  Lettie,  thinking  he  had  felt  her  caress, 
bowed  her  head  in  secret  shame,  Sutherland  broke 
trail  to  his  own  place.  The  storm  was  over.  Far 
to  the  south  the  wild  nor'wester  was  ending  its  days 
as  a  tropical  zephyr.  Eternal  silence  wrapped  the 
prairie.  All  about  the  bluffs  were  veiled  in  shim 
mering  white,  the  keen  air  thrilled  like  wine,  the 
frost  set  the  limbs  tingling.  Earth,  air,  and  sky 
blazed;  from  a  million  facets  the  snow  cast  up  the 
bright  sunlight,  yet  not  a  single  ray  pierced  the 
blackness  of  his  soul. 

For  the  next  two  weeks  he  lay  close,  nursing  a 
sick  heart  and  his  frosted  face.  Nothing  could 
tempt  him  forth — not  even  the  prairie-chicken  that 

61 


THE   PROBATIONER 

picked  about  his  door,  nor  a  saucy  wolf  that  daily 
threw  a  challenge  to  his  dog.  Then,  tiring  of  in 
action,  he  decided  to  put  in  the  remainder  of  the 
winter  lumbering  on  the  Shell.  He  told  his  mind 
to  his  nearest  neighbor,  but — he  did  not  go.  He 
waited  for  Castle,  faintly  hoping  he  had  read  the 
girl  wrong;  but  Castle  never  came. 

So  the  winter  months  dragged  on  like  years,  and 
in  the  middle  days  of  March  Sutherland  drove  into 
Moosomin  for  provisions,  and  for  tobacco,  of  which 
he  now  smoked  a  double  share.  As  he  waited  his 
turn  in  the  general  store,  two  women  at  the  counter 
exchanged  the  gossip  of  a  county.  At  first  he 
paid  no  attention.  Like  the  hum  of  a  hive  their 
voices  sounded  in  his  ears  until  the  stouter  of  the 
two  mentioned  Lettie  Greer.  Then  he  listened. 

"Yes,"  said  the  other;  "an'  who's  to  marry 
'em?" 

"Pere  Bay  on,  to  be  sure!" 

"  Well,  seein'  as  the  young  man's  a  Protestant,  I 
thought—" 

"Your  turn,  Sutherland!"  broke  in  the  store 
keeper.  "  Tobacco  ?  Must  be  eating  it  these  days !" 

He  laughed  at  his  own  joke,  and  chatted  while 
he  bustled  round.  Sutherland  answered,  but  he 
caught  every  syllable  of  the  women's  talk.  One  had 

62 


A   SON   OF   ANAK 

heard  that  the  young  man's  father  would  stock 
a  farm;  the  other  had  seen  a  handsome  present  from 
his  English  sisters.  Both  had  bids  to  the  wedding 
and  nothing  fit  to  wear.  Thus  they  rattled  on 
until,  heart-sick,  he  left  the  store. 

"Looks  real  bad,  doesn't  he,  poor  fellow?"  ob 
served  the  stouter  woman,  glancing  after  him. 

"He  does  so,"  sympathetically  agreed  the  other. 
"What's  he  doin'  here?  Thought  he  was  up  the 
Shell." 

"  Says  he's  going  to  strike  farther  west  to-morrow/' 
commented  the  storekeeper,  which  piece  of  news 
the  women  carried  to  the  wedding. 

All  that  night  Sutherland  tossed  and  turned,  but 
towards  morning  he  dozed  off  and  slept  till  the 
sun  shone  full  upon  his  window.  Then  he  rose  and 
flung  wide  the  door.  A  flood  of  light  poured  in. 
The  air  breathed  warm  of  spring.  On  bare  knolls 
prairie-cocks  strutted  before  admiring  hens;  Munro's 
fowls  cackled  cheerily,  a  cow-bell  tinkled  down  the 
valley.  And  as  he  stood,  drinking  in  the  sunshine, 
away  to  the  north  the  mission  bells  began  to  chime. 

At  first  he  thought  it  the  matin,  but  the  lilting 
measure  and  the  high  sun  said  no.  All  at  once  its 
significance  burst  in  upon  him.  Slamming  the 
door,  he  lay  down  and  buried  his  head,  yet,  though 

63 


THE   PROBATIONER 

he  shut  out  the  bell's  faint  music,  forth  from  the 
blackness  shone  Lettie's  flower  face. 

He  was  still  there  when,  two  hours  later,  Castle 
opened  the  door. 

"Hello,  sleepy  head!"  he  called;  then,  appalled 
by  the  face  which  was  raised  from  the  bed 
clothes,  he  exclaimed:  "Good  God,  man,  are  you 
sick?" 

Sutherland  passed  the  question.  "You  was  to 
have  first  chance,"  he  said,  sternly  and  reproach 
fully.  "You  got  it.  Was  there  need  to  leave  me 
here  to  suffer  hell  for  three  long  months?" 

"But  look  here,  old  man,"  Castle  pleaded,  " I  was 
sick  for  a  whole  month,  and  Munro  said  that  you'd 
gone  to  the  Shell." 

"Oh,  well,  it  don't  matter  now,"  Sutherland  an 
swered,  in  tones  that  were  hopelessly  dull,  and  he 
stared  at  the  opposite  wall  until  Castle  asked: 

"Aren't  you  going  to  wish  me  joy?" 

Sutherland  glanced  up  angrily  and  growled: 
"Would  you  if  I  was  in  your  shoes?  You've — " 

"Say,"  Castle  interrupted,  "you  surely  don't 
think  that  I —  By  George,  I  believe  you  do!  What 
a  lark!  I  must  tell  the  girls." 

As  he  ran  outside,  Sutherland  sprang  to  follow. 
"Come  back!"  he  roared.  "Come  back,  I  say!" 

64 


A   SON   OF   ANAK 

Then  he  stopped  dead,  and  gasped,  for  the  door 
opened  and  Lettie  stepped  inside. 

"I  thought  it  was  your — your  husband/'  he 
stammered. 

"My  husband?"  she  echoed  wonderingly.  "I — 
I  haven't  one!" 

She  stood  before  him,  flushing  and  paling,  trem 
bling  like  a  lily  in  the  wind,  and  he  shook  in  sym 
pathy.  For  a  moment  he  was  silent,  trying  to 
grasp  the  situation;  then  he  spoke,  and  the  only 
thing  the  stupid  could  think  to  say  was: 

"But— but— but  he  asked  you?" 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  stepping  by  him  to  the 
window,  "but  he  soon^-got  over  it.  Look!" 

It  was  a  small,  low  window,  and,  as  Sutherland 
bent,  their  heads  almost  touched.  Outside,  in  a 
brand-new  Portland  cutter,  sat  Kate  Howard,  and 
in  her  ear  Castle  was  whispering  something  which 
made  her  blush  and  smile. 

"Don't  they  look  happy?"  Lettie  whispered. 

And  then — and  then — and  then — ah,  well! 


THE    MERCY    OP  THE    FEOST 


THE   MERCY    OF    THE    FKOST 


IT  lacked  but  a  day  of  Christmas,  and  over  the 
Northland  the  frost-god  had  thrown  a  cloth  of 
purest  white.  From  the  parallel  of  fifty -three  it 
stretched,  unsullied,  northward  over  the  lands  of  the 
Hudson  Bay  Company  to  the  frozen  pole,  but  to  the 
south,  lonely  farmsteads,  black  and  ugly,  thrust  up 
ward  through  the  snow.  These  occurred  in  irreg 
ular  sequence,  and  were  grouped  in  small  settle 
ments,  with  wide  tracts  of  prairie  lying  between.  On 
each  uprose  some  sort  of  habitation — sod-shanty, 
log-cabin,  frame-house,  or  hut  of  mud  and  wattles, 
according  to  the  taste  and  fortune  of  its  owner. 

Apart  from  the  difference  in  house  fashions — in 
dicative  of  past,  not  present,  fortunes — the  farms 
presented  a  deadly  likeness.  The  same  yellow 
straw-stacks  dotted  their  fenceless  fields;  on  all, 
acres  of  wind-blown  fall  ploughing  smirched  the 
eternal  whiteness;  and  the  smallest  shack  had  its 

69 


THE   PROBATIONER 

huge  tent  of  firewood  upreared  among  the  drifts. 
Besides  this  identity  of  physical  appearance,  they 
had  other  things  in  common.  Sulky-rakes,  gang- 
ploughs,  and  self-binders  thrust  red  and  green  pro 
testing  limbs  from  hoary  drifts;  a  universal  mort 
gage  covered  all;  and  on  this  particular  day  a 
pennon  of  smoke  trailed  above  each  house  like  a 
banner  of  Christmas  cheer. 

On  the  eastern  edge  of  the  settlement  of  Silver 
Creek,  a  large  log-house  seemed  to  be  trying  to  out- 
smoke  its  neighbors.  From  either  end  of  the  main 
building  a  steamy  column  spurted,  the  sod  roof 
reeked  through  every  cranny,  while  in  the  kitchen 
lean-to  a  wood-stove  roared  like  a  thresher's  en 
gine.  The  door  of  this  house  opened,  and  a  shapely 
girl  called  to  a  man  who  was  chopping  wood : 

"I  declare,  dad,  the  woodbox's  emp'y  ag'in!" 

Through  the  open  door  came  girls'  laughter  and 
the  hum  of  women's  talk.  The  man  leaned  on  his 
axe-helve  and  looked  up,  a  good-natured  grin  puck 
ering  his  red  face. 

"All  right,  Susie;  all  right,  gal!"  he  laughed. 
"I'm  a-comin',  but  air  you  eatin'  the  wood?  Never 
seed  sech  weemen !  Bill  don'no  what  he's  a-gettin'." 

"Thinks  he  does/'  retorted  the  girl,  smiling 
roguishly.  "Hurry,  dad!" 

70 


THE   MERCY   OF   THE   FROST 

She  was  to  be  married  Christmas  morning,  and 
that  evening  the  neighbors  would  drop  in,  Northern 
fashion,  to  offer  their  good  wishes.  This  meant 
supper  and  a  dance,  wherefore  the  house  was 
a-buzz  with  preparation,  and  in  the  lean-to  a  half- 
dozen  neighbor  women  baked  and  brewed. 

After  he  had  filled  the  woodbox,  the  farmer  hung 
over  the  stove  while  he  cracked  a  joke  with  the 
women.  "  Jes  think,  Mis'  Harkins,"  he  remarked, 
slyly  stealing  a  cooky  from  her  pan,  "how  time 
does  scoot!  Seems  like  yesterday  as  I  was  buzzin' 
you.  D'  ye  remember  the  night  I  toted  ye  home 
from  singing- school,  an'  med  Hank  so  mad  he 
wanted  ter  lick  me?" 

Mrs.  Harkins,  a  tall,  gaunt  woman,  family  worn 
and  shaved  to  the  bone  by  the  stern  struggle  with 
the  inhospitable  Northern  soil,  looked  up  with  a 
pleasant  smile.  "Oh,  shore!"  she  laughed.  "Thet 
don't  count,  Silas.  You  was  doin'  it  jes  ter  make 
Christie  jealous." 

"Well,  now,  sis,  I  dunno!  I  reckon  I  med  Hank 
race  his  horses." 

"  Send  him  erlong,  Christie !"  exclaimed  the  pleased 
woman,  "afore  he  eats  all  my  cookies.  Ain't  you 
ashamed,  Silas,  a-talkin'  sech  nonsense  afore  the 
gals?" 

71 


THE   PROBATIONER 

"Silas  Brown/'  ordered  his  wife,  "jes  git  to 
yer  choppin'.  Here's  three  stoves  to  keep  a-goin', 
an'  the  folks  a-comin'  at  six." 

By  the  time  the  farmer  had  finished  his  chores  the 
pale  winter  sun  had  slid  behind  the  distant  school- 
house.  All  signs  pointed  to  a  rough  night.  A  dash 
of  snow  powdered  the  air,  the  north  wind  was  herd 
ing  the  drifts,  and  all  day  a  brilliant  "dog"  had 
chased  the  sun.  As  Silas  came  up  from  the  stables, 
tinkling  sleigh  -  bells  sounded  in  the  west.  He 
stopped  and  shaded  his  eyes,  muttering : 

"Kinder  early!    Mebbe  it's  the  fiddler!" 

Suddenly  his  eyes  grew  sick  and  troubled.  .  .  . 
"Shorely,  it  kedn't  be  him,"  he  murmured,  "of  a 
Christmas  night?"  But  a  moment  later  his  hand 
dropped,  and  he  groaned:  "It's  Fraser,  shorely! 
Them's  his  sorrels." 

Over  the  stubble  west  of  the  house  a  beautiful 
carriage  team  dashed  with  a  Portland  cutter. 
Heavy  furs  muffled  the  driver,  but  a  gray  beard 
escaped  from  beneath  his  muffler  and  told  that  he 
was  old.  His  figure,  too,  was  bent,  but  a  pair  of  hot, 
brown  eyes  burned  under  penthouse  brows.  At 
this  figure  Silas  stared,  bereft  of  speech. 

"Well,"  greeted  the  driver,  in  a  high,  nasal  tone, 
"ye'll  know  me  again,  Mr.  Brown!" 

72 


THE   MERCY   OF   THE   FROST 

"No  offence, Mr. Fraser — no  offence/'  the  farmer 
hastily  apologized.  "I  was  hardly  expectin'  ye. 
This  is  Christmas  Eve." 

The  old  man's  eyes  snapped.  "I  ken  it,"  he 
growled,  "  an'  a  fine  time  for  a  man  to  pay  his  lawfu' 
debts.  Ye'll  eat  yer  pudden  the  better  for  bein' 
a  free  man.  Of  coorse,"  he  went  on,  lugging  a 
bulky  envelope  from  his  pocket,  "  ye  ha'e  the  intrust 
ready?" 

Silas  quailed.  The  package  was  indissolubly 
connected  in  his  mind  with  memories  of  humiliating 
browbeating,  of  hard  toil  and  profitless  returns. 

"I — I — I'm  sorry — "  he  faltered;  then,  catching 
the  usurer's  glance,  stopped. 

It  was  maliciously  triumphant,  domineering,  and 
pregnant  of  secret  intelligence.  The  whole  face 
brimmed  with  conceit  of  power,  and  the  eyes  de 
manded  its  observance.  It  expressed  the  man. 
Sooner  than  loose  his  grip  on  a  debtor,  it  was  said 
that  Fraser  would  have  him  die  in  his  bond.  For 
a  long  minute  he  sat  enjoying  the  farmer's  dis 
comfiture. 

"  Ye  meanin'  that  it's  no  f orthcomin'  ?"  he  asked, 
tightening  his  lines  significantly. 

The  action  scared  Silas.  "For  God's  sake,  Mr. 
Fraser,"  he  called,  as  the  horses  stepped,  "don't 

73 


THE   PROBATIONER 

be  so  quick !  I  did  my  bes',  but  this  has  been  a  hard 
year.  Wheat  froze  i'  the  milk,  cattle  low,  hogs 
three  an'  a  half  cents  dressed,  an' — " 

"  Ye  spent  twenty  dollars  at  Russel's  store  a  week 
agone,"  broke  in  the  usurer,  savagely.  "Twenty 
dollars  o'  my  intrust,  Silas,  ye  spent  on  ribands  an' 
print  an'  sech  truck.  Now!  now!"  he  went  on, 
raising  a  deprecating  hand  as  though  challenging  a 
lie.  "  It's  no  use  talkin' !  Ye  know  ye  did." 

The  hectoring  tone  irritated  the  farmer.  His 
huge  fists  bunched  inside  his  mitts,  but  he  answered 
humbly  enough,  "  Ye  know  my  gal's  ter  be  married, 
Mr.  Fraser." 

"What's  thet  to  me?" 

"She  jes  kedn't  be  wi'out  a  bit  weddin'-dress, 
now,  ked  she?"  Silas  pleaded.  "  Ye've  had  children 
of  yer  own,  Mr.  Fraser." 

The  usurer  made  no  answer,  and  the  fading 
twilight  left  his  face  in  shadow.  Twenty  years 
before  he  had  been  counted  a  fair  neighbor;  a  bit 
close  on  a  bargain,  perhaps,  but  otherwise  an 
average  man.  Then,  all  of  a  sudden,  the  hand  of 
fate  pressed  sorely  on  him.  In  one  short  year  his 
wife  died,  a  wagon-wheel  crushed  his  drunken  son, 
and  his  daughter  eloped  with  a  rakish  hired-man — 
to  escape  his  bitter  temper,  people  said;  but  be  this 

7-1 


THE   MERCY   OF   THE   FROST 

as  it  may,  he  never  forgave,  to  the  day  she  died  in 
travail. 

"YeVe  had  children!"  reiterated  Silas.  He 
could  not  see  the  coal-like  eyes,  the  livid  face. 

"On'y  a  bit  weddin'-dress  ?" 

Just  then  a  peal  of  girlish  laughter  travelled 
from  the  house,  and,  like  flame  to  powder,  touched 
off  the  usurer's  passion. 

"Wastrels!"  he  screeched,  shaking  his  fist. 
"Wastrels  all!  Rio  tin'  wi'  my  siller.  Must  ha'e 
a  weddin' -  dress,  must  she?  Let  the  strumpet 
wear — " 

The  sentence  was  never  finished.  As  the  vile 
word  passed,  Silas  struck  him  upon  the  mouth. 
Then  into  his  mind  crowded  the  insults  of  a  dozen 
years.  Frost,  drought,  rust,  railroad  monopolies, 
all  the  evils  that  afflict  the  Northern  farmer  in 
carnated  in  the  person  of  the  money-lender.  Seizing 
the  axe,  he  raised  as  though  to  end  them  all. 

"By  God!"  he  shouted.     "I'll—" 

For  the  space  of  a  dozen  breaths  Fraser  trembled 
on  the  threshold  of  the  valley  of  shadows.  Had  he 
flinched,  even  moved,  the  axe  had  surely  fallen, 
but  he  sat  perfectly  still,  glowering  angrily  upon  the 
farmer.  And  Silas  thirsted  to  let  go.  He  hung  on 
tiptoe,  while  a  hot  devil  within  urged  him  to  strike. 

6  75 


THE   PROBATIONER 

Twice  he  raised  and  twice  he  lowered,  then,  with  a 
bitter  curse,  he  flung  the  axe  far  out  in  the  snow.  A 
minute  passed,  and  neither  spoke.  .  .  .  Two!  And 
they  still  stared  at  each  other  through  the  gloom. 

At  last  Fraser  stuffed  the  deed  in  his  pocket  and 
shook  up  his  lines.  "  Ye  have  my  congratulations, 
Mr.  Brown,"  he  said,  as  the  sleigh  moved  off. 
"Ye've  done  that  which  man  never  did  before. 
An'  it  '11  cost  ye  dear.  Principal  an'  intrust,  as  ye 
well  know,  are  baith  due  on  your  mortgage.  Ye 
have  till  nine  in  the  mornin'  to  pay  in  full." 

Until  the  north  wind  drowned  the  clashing  bells 
Silas  stood  like  a  frozen  man.  Behind  him  a  poplar 
windbrake  tossed  skeleton  arms  against  the  darken 
ing  sky. 

The  snow  was  now  falling  fast,  the  drift  flew  hiss 
ing  by.  Suddenly  the  house  door  opened,  and  a 
band  of  yellow  light  fell  full  upon  him.  Within,  all 
was  light  and  warm.  Scoured  tins  smiled  from  the 
white  walls,  the  stove  winked  blackly,  and  chatter 
ing  women  moved  about  the  well-scrubbed  floor. 

"Sup-per!"  sang  a  cheerful  voice.  "Bring  an 
armful  of  wood  with  yer!" 

As  he  loaded  up  the  wood,  Silas  thought  of  the 
consequences  of  his  act.  " Brace  up!"  he  muttered. 
"He  kain't  do  nuthin'  till  after  the  wedclin'.  Brace 

76 


THE   MERCY   OF   THE   FROST 

up,  Si!"  he  repeated,  with  infinite  tenderness,  "or 
ye' 11  spoil  it  fer  the  little  gal." 

His  supper  was  set  in  the  lean-to,  for  the  cotton 
partitions  had  been  removed  in  the  body  of  the 
house  and  the  floor  cleared  for  dancing.  Susie  and 
Letty  Green  had  hung  the  walls  with  spruce  boughs 
and  chains  of  scarlet  berries.  A  rough  board  seat 
ran  all  around;  in  the  far  corner  stood  a  chair  and 
table,  which  presently  would  enthrone  the  fiddler; 
and  a  half-dozen  stable-lanterns  dangled  from  the 
joists. 

"Ain't  it  pretty!"  exclaimed  Susie,  when  she  had 
finished  lighting  up. 

She  and  Lettie  stood,  each  with  an  arm  about  the 
other,  gazing  pridefully  upon  their  work.  To 
them  the  low-ceiled  room,  with  its  swinging  lanterns, 
was  very  beautiful.  Perhaps  at  that  very  moment, 
two  thousand  miles  east  and  south,  some  careless 
beauty  was  giving  a  last  glance  to  a  myriad-lighted 
ball-room  without  experiencing  a  tithe  of  their 
enjoyment. 

"It's  jes  lovely!"  Lettie  enthusiastically  agreed. 
"Dear!  I  wish  the  boys  would  hurry  ep." 

They  had  not  long  to  wait.  Though  the  storm 
now  swept  the  prairie,  a  score  of  teams  were  creeping 
slowly  towards  the  light  Silas  had  hung  from  the 

77 


THE  PROBATIONER 

gable.  In  five  minutes  a  hoarse  shout  and  the 
groan  of  frosty  runners  sent  Susie  flying  to  the  door, 
where  three  tall,  snow  -  powdered  McKays  were 
digging  a  like  number  of  girls  from  the  bottom  of  a 
sleigh. 

"Merry  Christmas!"  she  screamed. 
The  boys  answered  with  a  whoop,  and  one  of 
them  growled:    "Hurry  ep,   now,   Belle!    Here's 
another  load  awaitin' !" 

"  Jim !"  screamed  the  girl.     "  Let  go !    Kain't  you 
tell  a  han'  from  a  foot?" 

"Ain't  much  difference  'twixt  yourn,"  Jim  un- 
gallantly  answered.  "Now!  Heave-ho,  in  you  go!" 
Grabbing  the  girl  around  the  waist,  he  swung 
her  into  the  kitchen,  then,  leaping  into  his  sleigh,  he 
whirled  the  team  and  galloped  to  the  stable.  Sleigh 
followed  sleigh.  From  all  sides  came  the  tinkle  of 
storm-muffled  bells,  and  soon  the  house  was  throng 
ed  with  stout,  red-faced  lads  and  strong  girls, 
pretty,  but  thickened  with  heavy  choring.  The 
boys  were  moccasined,  and  wore  long  arctic  socks 
over  heavy  woollen  breeches;  store  tweed,  or  fancy 
moose-skin  coats  covered  their  upper  works,  while 
the  girls  had  added  a  touch  of  finery  to  their  homely 
winseys.  By  seven  the  guests  were  all  in,  and  three 
sets  of  lancers  held  the  floor. 

78 


THE   MERCY    OF   THE    FROST 

"  All  -  -  a  —  mande  —  left !  Hands  —  acrost ! 
Down  —  the  —  centre  !  Swing  —  the  —  corner  — 
lady!"  sang  Jim  McKay,  in  time  to  the  music. 

The  muffled  stamp  of  moccasins,  the  vigorous 
clack  of  Sunday  shoes  almost  drowned  his  voice 
and  the  squeaking  fiddle.  They  danced  furiously. 
While  the  girls  balanced  on  the  corner,  the  boys 
double-shuffled,  did  fancy  steps,  and  cut  pigeon- 
wings  as  they  plunged  to  meet  their  partners. 

"  An  —  turn — to  —  the — right !  Grand — march !' ' 
sang  Jim,  at  the  end  of  the  set. 

His  eye  was  on  Susie,  who  was  ushering  in  the 
last  load  of  girls.  Great  is  the  pride  of  the  man 
who  cuts  the  prospective  groom  out  of  the  first 
dance  with  his  bride. 

"  Chaussez!"  he  roared,  at  the  opportune  moment, 
and  shot  across  the  floor  on  a  mad  gallop.  But 
just  then  Sam  Short,  Bob  Moore,  and  three  re 
mittance-men  also  dived  for  the  prize. 

"Hands  off!"  laughed  Susie,  wrenching  free. 
"  Now,  boys,  line  up  an'  shet  yer  eyes,  and  the  man 
that  walks  straightest  'cross  the  floor  gets  the 
dance.  No  winkin'." 

While  they  were  pacing  forward,  gobbler-fashion, 
lifting  their  feet  very  high,  she  slid  by  and  joined  her 
•fiance.  "Thought  they'd  done  you,  Bill,"  she 

79 


THE   PROBATIONER 

whispered,  as  they  whirled  off  together.  "  Oh,  look 
at  them!  Geese!" 

But  Jim  got  the  next  dance,  a  set  of  lancers,  and 
he  handled  it  as  became  a  virtuoso  in  calling  off. 

"Jes  look  at  Maggie  Ross!"  Susie  whispered,  as 
they  balanced  on  the  corner. 

The  girl,  a  strong,  lithe  creature,  was  simply 
revelling  in  an  ecstasy  of  rhythmic  movement. 
Her  supple  body  swung  with  an  unconscious  aban 
don,  and  she  stepped  prettily  on  the  corners  when 
she  might  have  been  resting.  Just  as  Susie  spoke, 
Maggie  turned  to  speak  to  Belle  McKay,  who  was 
sitting  out  the  dance. 

"  All  —  swing  —  the  —  corner  —  lady!1'  sang  Jim 
McKay. 

"Hurry,  Mag!"  called  Bob  Moore,  her  partner. 

The  girl  turned,  saw  that  she  was  late,  and  sprang 
with  out-stretched  hands.  Bob,  who  was  executing 
a  pas  seul  while  waiting,  staggered  from  the  impact, 
tripped,  and  fell  with  a  comical  expression  of  as 
tonishment  on  his  face.  The  girl  stood  over, 
horrified,  looking  down  on  the  havoc  she  had 
wrought. 

"Well!"  she  innocently  exclaimed.  "Did — you 
— ever?  Why,  I  jes  touched  him!" 

A  roar  of  laughter  greeted  the  naive  remark. 
80 


THE   MERCY   OF   THE   FROST 

The  men  howled  and  the  girls  screamed,  while  the 
unfortunate  Bob  lay,  simulating  immense  alarm, 
and  yelled: 

"Hold  her  back,  boys!  Hold  her  back!  I  give 
in,  Mag.  I  do,  shorely.  Fetch  the  parson." 

And  while  the  young  folks  thus-  poured  of  their 
abundance  of  the  wine  of  life,  black  care  hobnobbed 
with  the  master  of  the  house.  Silas  did  his  best, 
but  now  and  then,  perhaps  in  the  middle  of  a 
laugh,  a  sickening  sense  of  coming  trouble  would 
strike  him  dumb.  Once  Susie  noticed  his  graye 
face,  and  in  a  pause  of  the  dance  slipped  behind 
him  and  whispered,  "What's  wrong,  dad?" 

Before  he  could  answer  she  was  called  to  her 
place,  so  she  read  his  trouble  in  her  own  way. 
"Dad's  goin'  to  miss  me  ever  so  much,"  she  said, 
doubtfully,  to  Bill  Lamance. 

"He  had  orter,"  replied  Bill,  with  an  admiring 
glance  that  drew  upon  him  a  box  on  the  ear. 

But  after  that  Susie's  laughter  took  on  a  quieter 
note,  and  she  cast  many  a  sympathetic  glance 
towards  her  father,  who  sat  listening  to  the  voice  of 
the  storm. 

Until  long  past  midnight  the  blizzard  thundered 
by.  Early  in  the  evening  gray  figures  etched  them- 

81 


THE   PROBATIONER 

selves  upon  the  window-panes,  to  be  buried  quickly 
beneath  a  film  of  clouded  ice.  Whenever  the  door 
opened  a  narrow  band  of  light  revealed  a  wild  snow- 
flurry  sweeping  by;  and  the  cold  blast,  rushing  in, 
froze  the  hot,  moist  air,  and  filled  the  place  with 
chilly  fog.  At  midnight  the  spirit  thermometer 
registered  a  hundred  degrees  of  frost.  But  about 
two  in  the  morning  the  wind  eased;  at  three,  the 
moon  peeped  from  behind  a  cloud  at  a  white  and 
frosty  world.  The  teams  were  brought  round,  the 
girls  snuggled  in  the  sleigh  bottoms,  with  hot 
stones  to  feet  and  hands,  and  by  four  the  house  was 
quiet. 

Christmas  morning  broke  fair  and  frosty.  Not  a 
breath  of  air  stirred  the  rime  upon  the  trees.  The 
bluffs  were  wreathed  in  a  shimmering  veil,  the  keen 
air  thrilled — thrilled  like  wine,  and  when  the  sun 
slipped  out  of  his  blanket  of  rose  and  gold  a  sea  of 
sparkling  diamonds  shot  back  his  rays.  The  wed 
ding  had  been  set  for  eleven,  but  it  was  nearly 
twelve  before  the  minister's  Indian  ponies  came 
skipping  down  the  trail.  The  lines  were  slung  be 
hind  the  preacher's  back,  his  fur  coat  bristled  with 
frost,  and  his  long  arms  were  flapping,  windmill 
fashion. 

"Never  saw  a  stiff er  Christmas!"  he  exclaimed, 

82 


THE   MERCY   OF   THE   FROST 

bustling  into  the  house.  "  Had  to  stop  three  times 
in  ten  miles  to  thaw  out.  Waiting,  are  you?  Here, 
Harkins!  Help  me  off  with  this  coat." 

While  he  was  being  skinned  of  his  furs  he  stood 
over  the  stove  cracking  his  wedding  jokes — hoary 
jests,  accumulated  and  handed  down  by  generations 
of  country  preachers.  But  presently  Silas  came  in 
from  putting  up  the  team,  and  the  minister  resumed 
his  wonted  gravity. 

Bride  and  groom  stood  ready.  Susie  carried  no 
flowers — the  North  offers  none  to  a  winter's  bride — 
but  on  her  cheeks  a  pretty  color  came  and  went. 
A  simple  dress  of  white  fluffed  about  her.  A  flood 
of  chastened  light  poured  through  the  frosted 
windows,  brightly  touching  the  scarlet  berries 
among  the  green  spruce  boughs  and  lighting  the 
circle  of  expectant  faces. 

The  minister  opened  his  book  at  the  marriage 
service,  and  cleared  his  throat. 

"Brethren,"  he  began,  "we—" 

A  clash  of  bells  and  the  lament  of  a  swiftly  mov 
ing  sleigh  interrupted.  The  minister  paused,  fore 
finger  on  his  place,  and  glanced  inquiringly  up. 
But  Silas  had  already  started  for  the  door,  his 
mind  full  of  vague  apprehension.  As  he  threw  it 
wide,  a  smoking  team  of  ponies  drew  up  opposite, 

83 


THE    PROBATIONER 

and  the  sheriff  of  Russel  County  stepped  from  the 
sleigh. 


II 


FLYING  snow,  fine  as  sifted  salt;  intense  frost;  a 
wind  that  pierces  fur,  wool,  and  flesh  to  the  marrow 
of  one's  bones,  mix  and  serve  cold  for  a  prairie  storm. 
But  as  the  gale  is  to  the  cyclone,  so  is  the  snow 
storm  to  the  blizzard.  When  it  whirls  over  the 
North,  winds  that  whip  a  hundred  miles  of  prairie 
every  hour  snatch  a  season's  snow  from  earth's  four 
corners  and  stir  it  until  the  air  is  thick  as  hasty- 
pudding.  The  mercury  freezes,  but  the  spirit  drops 
down,  and  down,  and  down.  Heavy  snow,  frozen 
snow,  snow  that  will  drive  through  a  stretched 
hide,  walls  the  traveller  within  a  fleecy  cloud  that 
stings  the  flesh  like  fire.  In  broad  day,  a  hand  held 
at  arm's-length  may  not  be  seen;  a  cry  drops  flat 
and  hollow  to  the  ground;  and  at  night  inky 
blackness  drapes  the  twisting  chaos. 

In  spite  of  the  sardonic  coldness  of  his  parting 
word,  the  usurer  was  full  of  a  hot  and  bitter  anger. 
For  the  first  time  a  debtor  of  his  had  dared  resent  his 
arrogance  of  power.  He  had  been  defied,  threat 
ened;  the  blood  trickled  from  his  stricken  mouth. 

84 


THE   MERCY   OF   THE   FROST 

Wiping  it  with  his  badger  mitt,  he  leaned  over  and 
cut  the  horses  along  the  flank. 

With  a  sudden  snort  the  brutes  sprang  from 
under  the  whip  and  raced  along  the  trail.  But 
presently  a  black  blot  grew  out  of  the  gloom  just 
ahead,  and  a  sleighing-song  caught  his  ear. 

"  Jingle  bells,  jingle  bells,  jingle  all  the  way, 
Oh,  what  fun  it  is  to  ride  in  a  one-boss  open  sleigh!" 

The  singing  stopped  as  he  turned  out  in  the  deep 
snow  to  let  the  singers  by.  They  screamed  Christ 
mas  greetings,  but  he  answered  nothing.  Again 
and  again  he  turned  out  to  let  sleighs  pass,  but 
presently  the  last — drawn  by  a  laggard  yoke  of 
oxen — crawled  past. 

"Who  is  thet?"  he  heard  a  voice  exclaim. 

"Looked  like  Fraser's  sorrels!"  a  man  answered. 

"The  old  screw!" 

The  bitter  answer  smote  his  ear  as  the  oxen 
swayed  along  high  above  him  on  the  trail.  Then 
he  and  the  storm  were  alone  together  in  the  middle 
of  a  hundred  thousand  miles  of  prairie. 

Now,  if  the  trail  be  packed  and  the  wind  steady, 
a  man  may  buck  into  the  blackest  kind  of  storm. 
And  if  he  but  keep  the  wind  on  one  cheek,  he  is 
bound,  sooner  or  later,  to  strike  some  sort  of 

85 


THE   PROBATIONER 

shelter.  But  before  the  usurer  had  gained  half 
way  to  Russel,  the  wind  veered  fifty  points,  a 
smother  of  snow  snatched  his  breath,  and  the 
blizzard  broke. 

Instantly  he  was  enveloped  in  a  whirling  flurry. 
He  could  neither  see  nor  hear  the  horses,  a  wall  of 
snow  drove  in  between;  but  the  jerking  lines  told  the 
tale  of  their  distressful  snorts.  He  felt  just  as 
though  he  were  being  drawn  through  a  black  void, 
where  the  thunderous  blizzard-voice  drowned  all 
sound.  And  he  got  so  used  to  the  eternal  sameness 
of  the  great  voice,  to  its  one  tremendous  tone,  that 
at  last  he  heard  nothing — everything,  but  infinite 
blackness,  was  not.  Yet  though  blind  and  deaf, 
he  could  tell  by  the  even  quiver  of  the  runners  that 
the  sorrels  kept  the  trail. 

For  a  mile  or  so  the  plucky  beasts  drove  into  the 
thick,  then,  all  of  a  sudden,  the  cutter  began  to 
pitch.  Instantly  Fraser  pulled  up.  As  he  stepped 
from  the  sleigh  the  wind  struck  him  a  foul  blow, 
the  drift  poured  over  him,  the  storm  beat  him  and 
howled  like  a  fierce  bully,  but  he  struggled  to  the 
horses'  heads  and  pulled  them  on  the  trail.  Five 
minutes  after  they  left  it  again.  And  a  third 
time ;  and  .on  the  fourth  break  he  stayed  by  them, 
trudging  along  in  the  blackness,  feeling  the  way  with 

86 


THE   MERCY   OF   THE   FROST 

his  feet.  But  soon  even  this  failed  him.  Wind 
and  snow  conspired  to  pack  the  drifts.  Soon  they 
bore  his  weight,  and  after  that  there  was  nothing  to 
distinguish  trail  from  prairie. 

Still,  with  ever-increasing  fury,  the  storm  raged 
on.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  been  toiling  for 
infinitely  long  periods  of  time  through  vast  spaces, 
seeking  a  lost  trail.  At  last,  all  tired  out,  he 
crawled  back  into  the  cutter.  And  now  it  was 
getting  colder.  His  breath  congealed  in  his  beard, 
his  eyelids  froze  together,  the  wind  chilled  him 
through  his  furs. 

Once  the  twinkle  of  a  distant  light  lifted  him 
from  black  despair.  He  waited  eagerly  for  a  break 
in  the  drift.  Again  the  bright  pin-point  pierced 
the  darkness.  It  was  the  gable  light  on  Brown's 
house  —  a  cheery  ray,  significant  of  warmth  and 
mirth  and  life.  But,  even  as  he  turned  the  horses 
for  it,  a  sudden  eddy  whirled  up  in  the  gable  and 
dashed  the  lantern  against  the  logs.  Within,  Silas 
heard  the  smash  of  shivering  glass,  and  started,  and 
far  out  on  the  prairie  the  usurer's  team  resumed  their 
endless  circling. 

At  break  of  day  Tom  Buchanan  closed  the  door 
of  his  road-house  on  the  Russel  trail  and  strode  off 

87 


THE   PROBATIONER 

to  do  his  chores.  After  feeding,  he  cleaned  out  the 
stables,  then  took  a  rope  and  fork  to  get  some 
straw.  At  the  corner  of  the  stack-yard  he  paused 
and  uttered  a  cry  of  surprise. 

Under  the  lee  of  the  stack  a  team  stood,  hitched 
to  a  fancy  Portland  cutter.  The  horses  were  furry 
with  frost  and  snow,  and  were  munching  the  dry 
straw  with  all  the  appetite  of  starving  beasts,  while 
in  the  cutter,  silently  watching  them,  sat  a  man. 
Even  at  that  distance  there  was  something  strange 
in  the  dread  intentness  of  his  look;  and,  as  he  drew 
near,  Tom  saw  that  the  sleigh  was  drifted  full  of  snow. 
Cautiously  approaching,  he  peered  into  the  man's  face. 

"Fraser!"  he  exclaimed,  drawing  quickly  back. 

The  usurer  sat  bolt  upright.  One  mittened  hand 
mutely  offered  a  bulky  envelope,  in  the  stiff  fingers 
of  the  other  an  indelible  pencil  was  frozen  fast. 
Stooping,  Tom  read  the  superscription,  then  slipped 
the  packet  in  his  pocket.  And  then,  and  not 
without  a  shudder,  he  stepped  into  the  cutter, 
whirled  the  team,  and  drove  rapidly  to  Russel. 


Ill 

"MERRY  CHRISTMAS!"  saluted  the  sheriff,  then 
paused.    Silas  was  staring  at  him  with  lack-lustre 

88 


THE   MERCY   OP   THE   FROST 

eyes.     "What    ails    you,    man?"    continued    the 
sheriff. 

"Kedn't  he  wait  one  more  day?"  groaned  the 
farmer.  "May  the  curse — " 

The  sheriff  held  up  a  staying  hand.  "  Hush,  man !" 
he  warned.  "  It's  ill  cursing  the  dead."  But  already 
the  farmer's  cry  had  filled  the  door  with  curious  faces. 

"Dead?"  echoed  Silas. 

"Who?  How?  Wlien?  Where?"  a  dozen  voices 
eagerly  questioned. 

"Donald  Fraser!"  answered  the  sheriff,  laconi 
cally.  "  Las'  night!  The  ol'  thing!  Off  the  trail- 
then,  the  white  death." 

A  gush  of  feeling  flooded  the  farmer's  mind,  and 
while  his  neighbors  plied  the  sheriff  he  tried  to 
catch  an  end  of  his  tangled  skein  of  thought.  First, 
he  felt  immense  relief.  He  caught  himself  thank 
ing  God  for  the  usurer's  death,  and  though  he  tried 
to  smother  the  thought,  like  a  half-scotched  devil 
it  kept  thrusting  upward.  Then,  with  a  sudden 
revulsion,  despair  seized  him — the  mortgage  still 
held!  And  what  brought  Morris  out  on  such  a 
morning?  Suspense  was  intolerable!  Stepping  be 
fore  the  sheriff,  he  said : 

"I  reckon,  Harry,  as  ye  didn't  come  out  jes'  to 
tell  us  this?" 

89 


THE   PROBATIONER 

Morris  smiled.  "Well — no,  not  exactly/'  he  re 
plied,  fumbling  in  his  pockets,  "  though  my  business 
ain't  p'r'aps  what  you  think.  Sheriff's  work  'd 
never  bring  me  out  on  a  Christmas  morning.  Ah! 
here  it  is!" 

He  drew  forth  a  package  and  handed  it  to  Silas, 
who  took  it  with  a  trembling  hand.  "  Come,  come !" 
laughed  the  sheriff,  clapping  him  on  the  shoulder. 
"Get  inside,  man,  and  open  it." 

All  crowded  round,  eagerly  expectant,  but  Silas 
hopelessly  fumbled  the  packet  with  his  stiff,  cold 
fingers.  "Here!"  exclaimed  the  minister,  im 
patiently,  "give  it  to  me,  Mr.  Brown!" 

With  a  dexterous  movement  he  slit  the  envelope. 
Within  lay  Silas's  mortgage,  with  its  long  row  of  en 
dorsements,  extending  over  many  a  weary  year. 
Written  of  his  sweat  and  blood  they  were,  in  charac 
ters  of  red  agony.  But  across  the  face  of  the  deed, 
in  the  great  scribble  of  a  blind  and  feeble  hand,  the 
usurer  had  written,  "  Paid  in  full." 

Who  shall  tell  the  thoughts  of  him  that  perishes 
at  the  hand  of  the  frost-god  ?  Perhaps,  as  the 
merciful  drowsiness  which  heralds  the  white  death 
crept  on,  the  old  man  may  have  harked  back  to  the 
springtime  of  his  life?  He  may  have  seen  his 
daughter's  conduct  in  a  kindlier  light  and  cherished 

90 


THE   MERCY   OF   THE   FROST 

a  tender  thought  for  his  erring  son?  And — who 
knows?  As  his  stiffening  fingers  performed  this 
last  kind  act,  his  dead  wife  may  have  reached  forth 
from  infinity  and  drawn  him  from  the  dross  that 
he  had  made  his  god. 


A   DRUMMEE    OF   THE 'QUEEN 


A   DKUMMER   OF    THE    QUEEN 


PATSF.Y  DOOLAN  was  a  small  "son  o'  the 
widder."  At  her  command  he  blew  silvery 
calls  from  a  brass  bugle,  receiving  therefor  the 
princely  income  of  twopence  per  diem — less  a  half 
penny  a  month,  deducted  for  the  services  of  the 
regimental  barber.  He  also  received,  annually, 
two  brand-new  red  uniforms,  which  turned  the 
souls  of  civilian  boys  green  with  envy,  and  as 
much  good,  solid  food  as  he  could  crowd  into  his 
small  stomach. 

A  bright  boy  was  Patsey.  At  least,  so  said 
Drum-Major  O'Hooligan — a  wise  man,  who  could 
tell  what  a  boy  was  thinking  about  by  looking  at 
him. 

"  It's  a  full-blooded  colonel  o'  the  quane  Patsey  '11 
be  when  ye're  carryin'  coal  to  the  married  quarters 
av  a  Sathurday  mornm',"  O'Hooligan  would  say  to 
the  " Drums."  "Listen,  ye  small  sarpints!"  And 

95 


THE   PROBATIONER 

he  would  hold  up  his  hand  while  Patsey  made  music 
of  the  "last  post." 

But  it  was  possible  to  have  too  much  of  a  good 
thing.  The  commendations  of  his  superior  officer 
got  Patsey  into  pecks  of  trouble.  After  practice, 
the  "  Drums  "  would  descend  upon  him  in  a  body 
and  mottle  his  small  body  with  assorted  shades  of 
blue  and  black. 

Patsey's  regiment,  the  One  Hundred  and  Tenth 
of  the  line,  was  stationed  at  the  Curragh  of  Kildare, 
where  rules  a  brigade-major  with  a  will  of  iron  and  a 
soul  of  brass.  He  is  known,  is  that  major,  from 
Cork  to  Cochin  China  and  from  the  Cape  to  Kan 
dahar.  Men  who  have  served  under  him  renounce 
all  other  forms  of  abuse,  and  consign  their  enemies 
to  the  Curragh  Camp;  and  whole  regiments  have 
been  known  to  tremble  at  the  mention  of  his  name. 

The  One  Hundred  and  Tenth  had  been  ordered  to 
the  Curragh  by  way  of  penance  for  infractions  of  the 
peace  of  her  Majesty  the  Queen.  One  black  night 
in  Limerick,  in  an  ill-advised  moment,  they  painted 
the  statue  of  Daniel  O'Connell  a  brilliant  orange,  and 
now  they  repented  in  sackcloth  and  ashes  at  the  feet 
of  Brigade-Major  Cramp. 

And  the  major  did  his  best  to  bring  the  regiment 
to  a  knowledge  of  the  errors  of  its  ways.  Vexatious 

96 


A   DRUMMER   OF   THE   QUEEN 

night  attacks  upon  imaginary  enemies,  while  the 
rest  of  the  command  snored  blissfully  in  the  lines, 
made  the  temper  of  the  regiment  as  raw  as  the  back 
of  a  commissariat  mule.  Besides  which,  it  was 
harried  by  the  brigade  -  general,  ordered  to  make 
extra  route-marches  by  his  chief  of  staff,  and  publicly 
anathematized  by  the  commander -in -chief.  To 
add  insult  to  injury,  the  other  regiments  made  in 
sulting  remarks  anent  the  One  Hundred  and 
Tenth's  predilections  for  painting  and  other  arts  of 
peace,  until  it  rose  in  its  wrath  and  smote  them 
with  belt  and  scabbard  from  A  Lines  to  the 
Clock  Tower.  After  which  it  was  left  severely 
alone. 

When  marching  orders  finally  arrived  at  division 
headquarters  for  the  One  Hundred  and  Tenth,  every 
man,  from  the  colonel  to  the  latest  addition  to  the 
"  Drums,"  hailed  them  as  a  release  from  purgatory. 
They  did  not  know  where  they  were  going,  arid 
would  not  know  until  they  got  there,  for  the  actions 
of  the  British  War-Office  are  shrouded  in  mystery 
which  may  not  be  divined  by  a  simple  regiment  of 
the  line;  but  so  long  as  it  got  out  of  the  clutches  of 
Brigade-Major  Cramp,  the  regiment  did  not  care  if 
it  was  sent  to  Jericho. 

It  was  in  the  spring  of  '85  when  H.  M.  troop-ship 
97 


THE   PROBATIONER 

Jumna,  with*the  One  Hundred  and  Tenth  aboard, 
docked  at  Halifax,  Nova  Scotia. 

"Just  in  time!"  exclaimed  the  regiment  when  it 
heard  of  the  rebellion  of  the  Metis  in  the  northwest; 
but  an  unkind  Providence  had  decreed  otherwise. 
The  Dominion  government  undertook  to  quell  the 
disturbance  with  its  own  militia,  and  the  only 
assistance  it  asked  of  the  Hundred  and  Tenth  was 
the  loan  of  a  staff-officer. 

There  was  joy  in  the  "  Drums  "  when  they  heard 
that  the  colonel  was  to  take  a  bugler  with  him. 
Every  boy  in  the  lot  was  sure  he  would  be  the 
favored  one.  Even  Jimmy  Buck,  who  had  just 
graduated  from  the  married  quarters,  put  in  his 
plea. 

"I'm  so  little,"  said  he,  "it  wouldn't  matter  if 
they  did  pop  me  orf." 

For  several  days  the  buglers  found  innumerable 
errands  which  carried  them  past  the  officers'  quar 
ters,  and  the  colonel  smiled  as  he  noted  the  excessive 
whiteness  of  their  facings,  the  mathematical  exact 
ness  of  their  salutes,  and  the  backward  glances  to 
note  the  effect. 

"  The  '  Drums '  would  wipe  out  the  rebellion 
alone,"  he  chuckled  to  his  major,  but  that  officer 
received  the  remark  with  hauteur.  He  was  suffer- 


A   DRUMMER   OF   THE   QUEEN, 

ing  under  a  sense  of  undeserved  injury.  It  was 
certainly  piggish  of  the  colonel  to  monopolize  the 
only  chance  of  getting  killed  which  had  been  offered 
the  regiment  in  a  decade. 

The  night  before  the  colonel's  departure  the 
choice  of  a  bugler  had  not  yet  been  announced,  and 
the  "  Drums"  were  torn  with  dissension  almost  to 
the  pitch  of  mutiny.  In  the  absence  of  the  drum- 
major,  a  battle  royal  raged  among  the  aspirants  for 
service  at  the  front.  That  officer,  in  blissful 
ignorance  of  the  condition  of  his  command,  was 
closeted  with  the  colonel. 

"And  you  can  recommend  the  Doolan  boy, 
Drum-Major?" 

"  Blows  the  sweetest  G  in  the  corps,  sir." 

"Father  and  mother  both  dead,  you  say?" 

"Ye'll  remember  Color  -  Sergeant  Doolan,  sir? 
Rest  his  sowl!" 

"Ah,  to  be  sure."  The  colonel  reverently  raised 
his  forage-cap.  "  Killed  in  that  night  attack  in  the 
Afghan  hills  in  78.  A  brave  man." 

The  colonel  leaned  his  head  on  his  hand,  and 
silence  fell  in  the  orderly  room.  The  drum-major 
stood  to  attention  and  stared  straight  to  his  front. 
The  Khyber  Pass  rose  before  them  in  all  its  savage 
grandeur,  and  into  the  minds  of  both  flashed  a 

99 


THE   PROBATIONER 

picture  of  a  ring  of  dead  Ghurkas,  and  the  body  of 
the  sergeant,  slashed  from  shoulder  to  waist;  lying 
in  the  midst. 

"And  the  mother?" 

"Died  av  fever,  in  the  lines  at  Rawul-Pindi,  sir." 

"Very  well,  Drum-Major,"  said  the  colonel,  clos 
ing  his  book.  "  Let  him  report  at  my  quarters  in 
marching  order  at  eight,  sharp,  to-morrow  morning." 

Patsey  paraded  in  the  morning  bearing  upon  his 
freckled  face  many  marks  of  the  "  Drums"  disap 
proval  of  the  colonel's  choice. 

"Fighting?"  asked  the  colonel. 

"Bill  Hogan  'it  me,  sir,"  said  Patsey,  apologet 
ically.  "An' I  licked 'im." 

"Why  did  he  strike  you?" 

"  'Cos  I  said  I'd  bring  'im  'ome  a  'arf-breed  scalp, 
sir." 

"H'm!"  said  the  colonel.  "You'll  be  lucky  if 
you  bring  back  your  own." 

Then  he  contemplated  with  wonder  the  look  of 
ecstasy  which  spread  over  the  boy's  face.  "  I 
believe  the  little  beggars  like  to  be  killed,"  he 
thought.  "  It's  born  in  'em!" 

Winnipeg  was  in  a  wild  frenzy  of  excitement  when 
the  colonel,  with  Patsey  in  tow,  reported  at  head 
quarters.  Lean  and  lank  settlers  wandered  up  and 

100 


A   DRUMMER   OF   THE   QUEEN 

down  Main  Street,  or  gathered  in  knots,  eloquently 
descanting  on  what  they  would  do  if  they  were  the 
government.  Fugitives  were  pouring  into  the  city 
in  buckboards,  ox-wagons,  Red  River  carts,  afoot 
and  ahorse,  bringing  with  them  fresh  tales  of  torture 
and  rapine.  Big  Bear  had  massacred  all  the  white 
men  at  Frog  Lake,  and  carried  off  the  women.  It 
was  said  that  Battleford  had  fallen.  Lonely  settlers 
had  been  overtaken  in  flight,  killed,  and  scalped. 

That  very  day  a  mounted  policeman  galloped  in, 
worn  and  weary,  reeling  in  his  saddle,  with  the  news 
of  Crozier's  defeat  at  Duck  Lake.  Riel  was  said  to 
be  advancing  on  Winnipeg.  A  bloody  cloud  of  fear, 
smoke,  and  war,  hung  over  the  Great  Lone  Land,  and 
the  danger,  magnified  by  common  report  out  of  all 
proportion,  loomed  terrible  in  the  distance. 

But  the  much  -  maligned  government  was  doing 
its  best  to  grapple  with  the  situation.  Raw  levies 
of  sturdy  Scot-Canadians  poured  in  fast  as  special 
trains  could  bring  them  through  fifteen  hundred 
miles  of  forest.  Patsey  inspected  them  as  they 
arrived  with  a  critical  eye.  He  sauntered  round 
their  quarters,  bestowing  a  commendation  here,  a 
stricture  there,  with  all  the  assurance  of  a  com- 
mander-in-chief  on  a  field-day. 

"A  likely-lookin'  lot,"  he  observed,  blandly;  "but 
101 


THE    PROBATIONER 

soldiers!'' — with  a  sniff  of  unutterable  contempt — 
"oh,  crikey!"  And  having  thus  testified  to  their 
impossibility,  judged  by  the  superior  standards  of  a 
drummer  of  the  Line,  he  proceeded  to  inspect  the 
drum-corps. 

"Where's  the  'Drums'  quartered?"  he  asked  of  a 
big  private  of  the  Ninetieth  Foot.  The  man  stared. 
"  The  '  Drums ' !"  Patsey  added,  impatiently.  "  The 
buglers!" 

The  private  surveyed  the  little  red  figure  and 
laughed. 

"Reckon  it's  the  man  thet  blows  the  horn  thet 
ye're  wantin'."  Patsey  nodded.  "Ye'll  fin'  him 
over  there." 

Patsey  moved  in  the  direction  indicated,  and  was 
shocked  to  find  that  a  long,  lean  bugler  was  the  sole 
representative  of  the  important  branch  of  the 
service  to  which  he  belonged.  But  quickly  re 
covering  his  equanimity,  he  commenced  to  examine 
the  lone  drummer  concerning  his  qualifications  for 
his  office,  and  soon  found  that  he  had  a  most  shock 
ing  habit  of  injecting  a  cracked  C  right  into  the 
centre  of  his  quavery  G. 

"Listen,  ye  long  sarpint,"  said  Patsey,  rising  on 
his  toes  after  the  fashion  of  Drum-Major  O'Hooligan, 
"  while  I  sound  ye  a  G!" 

102 


A   DRUMMER   OF   THE    QUEEN 

The  depth  and  fulness  of  that  G  haunted  the 
long  bugler  until  he  almost  burst  a  blood-vessel  in 
futile  attempts  at  imitation.  And  because  of  this 
tribute  to  his  superiority,  Patsey  patronized  the 
long  bugler  extensively,  and  had  even  a  good  word 
for  the  Ninetieth.  "  Though,  of  course,  ye'll  never 
be  soldiers,"  he  would  add  to  his  commendations. 

The  Ninetieth  looked  upon  Patsey  somewhat  in 
the  light  of  a  good  joke;  so  that  when  he  was  finally 
attached  to  them  for  mess  purposes  the  arrange 
ment  was  satisfactory  to  all  parties.  He  shared 
with  them  the  dangers  and  toils  of  the  long  march 
from  Qu'Appelle,  and  was  with  them  at  Fish  Creek 
when  they  engaged  Kiel's  forces  and  drove  them 
back  upon  Batoche. 

On  the  evening  of  the  second  day's  fighting  at 
Batoche,  a  semicircle  of  red  fires  winked  mockingly 
out  of  the  black  night  at  the  breeds  sullenly  lying 
in  their  second  line  of  defence.  Around  the  fires 
lay  the  men  of  the  Ninetieth,  swapping  experiences 
of  the  day's  work.  Here  and  there  a  man  sat  close 
up  to  the  blaze,  writing  home — perhaps  for  the  last 
time;  and  the  firelight  flickered  on  the  faces  of 
thoughtful  men  who  knew  that  death  lurked  out 
in  the  rifle-pits.  Between  the  Ninetieth  and  the 
enemy  extended  a  long  line  of  pickets,  but  the  ut- 

103 


THE   PROBATIONER 

most  vigilance  could  not  prevent  straggling  snipers 
from  dropping  an  occasional  bullet  into  camp. 

Patsey  squatted  at  one  of  the  fires,  heating  tea  in 
a  canteen,  and  kept  up  a  running  comment  on  the 
manoeuvring  of  the  Ninetieth. 

"Ye  didn't  keep  your  distances,"  he  remarked, 
sagely.  "Lot  o'  bloomin'  sheep!" 

The  long  bugler  withdrew  his  cleaning-rod  from 
his  rifle  and  squinted  down  the  barrel.  "Guess 
she'll  do,"  he  said,  snapping  the  breech.  "Say, 
boys,  did  ye  see  Patsey  standin'  behind  the  gen 
eral's  hoss?" 

"Out  o'  range,  too,"  said  another  man,  with  a 
wink. 

"Proper  place  fer  the  reg'lars,"  said  a  third. 

"Where  else  'd  I  be,  ye  'arf -baked  lobsters?"  re 
plied  Patsey,  with  superior  calmness.  "  Yer  wouldn't 
'a'  knowed  where  to  go  if  I  'adn't  tooted  yer  orders." 

"Tooted  us  inter  the  rifle-pits  from  long  range, 
Patsey?  Ye're  brave!" 

The  lad  lifted  the  canteen  from  the  glowing  coals 
and  opened  his  mouth  to  reply.  A  rifle  flashed 
beyond  the  pickets,  and  a  whizzing  bullet  sent  the 
tin  flying  from  his  hand.  The  hot  tea  splashed 
all  over  the  men.  They  jumped  to  their  feet  and 
rushed  for  their  rifles. 

104 


A   DRUMMER   OF   THE    QUEEN 

"Here,"  said  the  long  bugler,  "we've  got  ter  get 
thet  feller!  Are  ye  hurt,  boy?" 

But  Patsey  had  seized  a  rifle  and  slipped  off  in  the 
darkness. 

"  Traid,  am  I?"  he  muttered.     " I'll  show  'em!" 

He  lay  flat  on  his  belly  and  wormed  his  way  be 
tween  the  pickets;  but,  once  outside  the  line,  he 
rose  to  his  feet  and  moved  rapidly  across  the 
prairie.  Looking  back,  he  could  see  the  red  fires, 
and  black  figures  passing  between;  and  he  heard 
the  long  bugler  cautioning  the  pickets  not  to  let 
"the  little  red  drummer  go  by."  A  rifle  flashed 
about  a  hundred  yards  ahead,  and  the  bullet  hum 
med  along  its  path  of  death  just  above  his  head. 
He  dropped  on  his  hands  and  knees,  and  crept 
towards  the  flash. 

"I'll  wait  till  I  get  within  twenty  yards  of  the 
beggar,"  he  thought.  "  Then  I'll  plug  'im !" 

He  wiggled  over  the  grass  towards  the  concealed 
marksman.  Once  more  the  rifle  flashed — this  time 
only  fifty  yards  away.  Patsey  crept  a  little  nearer 
and  waited.  He  thought  he  could  see  a  dim  figure 
through  the  darkness,  but  dared  not  fire.  He  waited 
for  the  flash.  At  last  it  came.  He  sighted  for  the 
very  centre  of  the  white  smoke  dimly  rising  in  the 
blackness,  and  pulled  trigger. 

105 


THE   PROBATIONER 

Blinding  fire  flashed  from  the  breech  of  his  rifle. 
A  crashing  sound  rent  his  brain,  and  he  plunged 
forward  and  lay  still. 

For  a  few  minutes  after  the  bursting  of  the  little 
bugler's  rifle,  silence  reigned  over  the  prairie.  Then 
two  figures  loomed  out  of  the  night  and  bent  over 
the  boy.  One  of  the  men  picked  up  the  shattered 
weapon. 

"  Thought  as  much,  Jean.  Plugged  muzzle.  Run 
it  inter  the  sand,  I  guess.  Breech  blown  right 
out." 

"By  Gar!  Luckee  for  me,"  said  the  other. 
"  'E  vas  onlee  twenty  paces  off.  Take  up  hees  feet, 
Baptiste." 

"Why,  it's  a  boy!"  exclaimed  the  other.  "Poor 
leetle  beggar — a  bugler.  Here's  hees  horn." 

When  consciousness  slowly  filtered  back,  Patsey 
found  himself  lying  in  a  smoke-blacked  tepee.  His 
temples  throbbed  with  pain,  and  the  blood  still 
flowed  from  a  cut  beneath  his  eye,  but  otherwise 
he  was  none  the  worse  for  his  mishap.  He  sat  up 
and  took  note  of  his  surroundings. 

A  man  sat  writing  at  a  rough  table  by  the  light 
of  a  cotton  flare.  As  Patsey  looked  upon  him,  a 
vague  idea  that  he  had  seen  the  fellow  before  en 
tered  his  mind,  and  he  looked,  and  looked  again, 

106 


A   DRUMMER   OF   THE   QUEEN 

trying  to  place  him.  From  the  man's  straight 
eyebrows  rose  a  high  forehead  crowned  with 
bristling  hair.  His  lips  were  thin,  his  cheeks 
hollow,  and  his  nose  long  and  straight.  Wild  eyes, 
hot  with  the  fires  of  fanaticism,  gleamed  from  his 
pale  face.  He  glanced  quickly  up  when  the  boy 
moved,  and  then  Patsey  recognized  him  from  a 
portrait  he  had  seen  in  Winnipeg — it  was  Louis 
Kiel. 

"  Who  are  you  ?"  Kiel  spoke  in  quick,  harsh  tones. 

"Patsey  Doolan,  sir." 

"What  regiment?" 

"One  Hundred  and  Tenth  of  the  Line,"  replied 
-Patsey,  proudly  swelling  his  chest.  "Attached  to 
the  Ninetieth  Winnipeg  Rifles." 

"Ah,  a  regular.    Bugler?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

Riel  bit  the  end  of  his  pen  and  stared  at  the  boy ; 
but  Patsy  could  see  that  the  wild  eyes  were  seeing 
other  things.  For  a  full  minute  he  stared,  then 
the  eyelids  drooped  and  a  sinister  expression  shot 
across  his  face. 

"We'll  find  you  something  to  do  to-morrow,"  he 
said,  and  turned  again  to  his  writing. 

Patsey  watched  for  a  while.  Indian  runners 
slipped  in  and  out,  bringing  and  taking  messages. 

8  107 


THE   PROBATIONER 

Kiel  would  glance  up,  give  a  quick  order,  and  plunge 
again  into  his  writing.  Gradually  the  boy  com 
menced  to  nod;  he  heard  the  voices  as  in  the  dis 
tance,  then  he  dropped  into  a  sound  sleep. 

When  he  awoke,  the  gray  lights  of  the  early 
morning  were  stealing  into  the  tent,  but  Riel  still 
sat  busily  writing.  When  the  boy  moved,  the  half- 
breed  leader  struck  his  open  hand  smartly  on  the 
table.  An  Indian  stepped  to  the  door. 

"  Send  Laval  here,  We- weep !"    He  spoke  in  Cree. 

Riel  sat  nervously  biting  the  end  of  his  pen, 
until  a  heavy  step  sounded  on  the  outside.  The 
flap  of  the  tent  flew  back,  and  a  big  breed  swag 
gered  in.  He  glanced  at  the  boy's  red  coat,  and 
scowled.  Patsey  shrank  instinctively  back.  Brute 
was  marked  on  every  line  of  the  man's  pock-marked 
visage;  his  eyes  squinted  out,  yet  the  boy  could  feel 
the  malevolent  glare  concentrated  full  upon  him. 

The  two  men  whispered  together,  glancing  over 
their  shoulders.  At  last  Riel  spoke  aloud. 

"  Listen,  boy,"  he  said.  "  Go  with  this  man.  Do 
everything  he  tells  you,  or — "  A  cruel  smile 
writhed  his  thin  lips. 

The  breed  grabbed  the  boy's  collar  and  jerked 
him  roughly  to  his  feet.  A  cloth  was  tied  over  his 
eyes,  and  he  was  led  out  of  the  tent.  For  nearly  a 

108 


A   DRUMMER   OF   THE   QUEEN 

mile  he  stumbled  along  beside  his  companion.  He 
could  hear  men  talking,  sometimes  in  English,  more 
often  in  French,  and  then  again  he  recognized  the 
gutturals  of  the  Cree.  Suddenly  he  felt  himself 
raised  from  his  feet  and  dropped  into  a  hole.  As 
he  fell,  his  hands  flew  instinctively  to  the  bandage 
that  blinded  him,  and  he  tore  it  off. 

He  was  in  a  rifle-pit,  the  centre  of  a  long  line  ex 
tending  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach  to  the  right  and 
left.  In  the  next  pit  was  Laval,  and  all  along  the 
line  he  could  see  the  heads  of  the  swarthy  breeds 
peering  through  the  embrasures  of  the  pits.  Just 
then  his  attention  was  attracted  by  the  sound  of  a 
British  bugle,  and,  peeping  through  his  loop-hole, 
he  saw  the  Canadian  forces  deploying  for  battle. 
Again  the  bugle  sounded  the  "right  extend,"  and 
Patsey  grinned  with  pleasure  as  a  shrill  C  split 
up  the  quavery  G.  Once  more  he  glanced  along 
the  line  of  pits.  The  breeds  were  sighting  through 
the  loop-holes  and  muttering  curses  on  the  slow- 
moving  troops. 

The  blaring  bugle  brought  him  back  to  his  loop 
hole  in  a  hurry.  The  Canadians  were  advancing. 
He  could  see  the  black  uniforms  of  the  Ninetieth 
dodging  from  bush  to  bush.  Away  to  the  right, 
Boul ton's  Horse  were  swinging  out  for  a  wide  flank- 

109 


THE   PROBATIONER 

ing  movement.  Grassett's  Grenadiers  deployed  on 
the  left,  and  the  Midlanders  covered  the  Ninetieth. 

A  stir  in  the  next  pit  attracted  his  attention. 
Laval  was  looking  through  the  sights  of  his  long 
rifle.  A  thin  spume  of  smoke  shot  from  the  em 
brasure,  followed  by  a  sharp  report — the  battle  had 
commenced. 

Three  long  hours  Patsey  lay  in  his  pit  watching 
the  advance.  Sometimes  a  screaming  hail  from 
Howard's  Gatling  swept  over  him,  and  then  a  rifle- 
bullet  would  plump  into  his  parapet,  but  none  hap 
pened  to  find  his  loop-hole.  He  trembled  with  joy 
as  his  friends  drew  gradually  nearer  in  the  face  of  the 
destructive  fire.  As  the  day  wore  on,  a  thick  cloud 
of  smoke  hung  over  the  pits,  and  the  sulphurous 
fumes  of  burned  powder  almost  choked  him.  From 
the  yellow  Tophet  arose  the  wild  yells  of  the  fierce 
Metis,  the  war-whoops  of  the  savage  Crees,  and 
the  death-screams  of  hard-hit  men. 

Patsey  watched  Laval's  movements  with  intense 
interest.  He  did  not  fire  very  often,  but  every  time 
his  rifle  cracked  a  man  in  black  pitched  forward. 
As  the  troops  drew  nearer,  the  breed  began  to  get 
excited.  He  muttered  wild  curses  and  his  squint- 
eyes  rested  on  Patsey  with  a  look  of  deadly  hatred. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  the  Canadians  got  well  with- 
110 


A   DRUMMER   OF   THE   QUEEN 

in  charging  distance.  Patsey  wondered  why  they 
did  not  charge;  but,  looking  out,  he  saw  the  officers 
holding  them  back.  At  length  they  could  hold 
their  men  no  longer.  The  soldiers  were  slipping 
by  and  taking  up  more  advanced  ground.  Patsey 
made  out  the  long  body  of  the  Ninetieth  bugler 
slipping  from  bush  to  bush. 

"Boy!" 

He  glanced  up  in  quick  surprise.  He  had  forgotten 
Laval. 

"Take  your  bugle  and  sound  the  '  Retreat.' ' 

Patsey  stared.  "The  'Retreat/  sir?"  he  stam 
mered. 

"  Yes.  Put  your  bugle  to  that  loop-hole  and  blow 
for  your  life." 

Laval's  rifle  rose  slowly,  and  the  boy  looked  right 
into  the  little  black  muzzle. 

The  meaning  of  the  order  suddenly  flashed  upon 
him.  He  was  to  stop  the  charge  of  the  Canadians, 
and  bring  the  day's  fighting  to  naught.  His  soul 
rose  hot  within  him,  and  a  blank  refusal  trembled 
on  his  lips.  Then  an  inspiration  came  to  him. 

"All  right,  sir,"  he  answered,  cheerfully. 

"Thought  that  'd  fix  you,"  growled  the  breed, 
lowering  his  rifle. 

The  lad  peeped  through  the  embrasure  as  he 
in 


THE   PROBATIONER 

swung  the  bugle  from  under  his  arm.  The  men 
were  still  slipping  past  the  protesting  officers.  He 
raised  the  bugle,  and  with  all  the  might  that  was  in 
him  sounded  the  charge! 

Loud  and  clear  and  shrill,  the  notes  carried  far 
over  the  prairie.  Away  on  the  hill  where  stood 
the  general  staff  the  colonel  started  as  he  recognized 
the  bugle's  clear  tones.  From  the  fighting  -  line 
burst  a  howl  of  fierce  pleasure,  and  it  rose  as  one 
man  and  shot  into  the  deadly  zone  of  fire. 

Patsey  saw  the  long  bugler  spring  from  behind  a 
bush  and  dash  towards  him;  then,  mad  with  excite 
ment,  he  leaped  upon  the  parapet  of  his  pit  and 
cheered  the  Ninetieth  on.  The  men  saw  the  little 
red  figure,  and  then  saw  that  which,  for  one  second, 
paralyzed  their  charge.  The  giant  figure  of  Laval 
rose  from  the  pit  behind  the  boy.  A  cry  of  im 
potent  anguish  burst  from  the  lips  of  the  long 
bugler  as  he  covered  the  ground  with  giant  strides. 
The  breed's  rifle  rose  in  the  air  and  fell.  The  little 
red  figure  quivered  beneath  the  stroke,  and  dropped, 
limp  and  lifeless. 

The  next  minute  the  slipping  bayonet  of  the 
long  bugler  had  avenged  his  death.  The  Ninetieth, 
the  Midlanders,  and  Grassett's  poured  into  the  pits 
like  a  black  flood  of  death,  and  many  a  breed  paid  in 

112 


A   DRUMMER   OF   THE    QUEEN 

full  measure  for  Laval's  evil  stroke.  Ten  minutes 
of  lively  fighting,  and  then  Boul ton's  Horse  smashed 
the  right  flank  like  a  pane  of  glass.  The  breeds  broke 
and  fled — the  rebellion  of  the  Metis  was  over. 

"Who  ordered  those  men  to  charge?"  exclaimed 
the  general,  when  the  wild  yell  rose  to  the  hill. 

"No  one,  sir,"  replied  his  chief  of  staff. 

But  the  men  of  the  Ninetieth  know  who  ordered 
that  charge.  Orders  and  decorations,  knighthoods 
and  crosses,  rewarded  the  men  on  the  hill  for  the 
great  deeds  they  had — not  done.  And  Patsey  also 
got  his  cross.  Before  the  men  of  the  Ninetieth 
returned  to  their  lonely  prairie  farms  they  placed 
a  wooden  cross  at  the  head  of  a  little  grave;  and 
deep  in  the  wood,  the  loving  hands  of  the  long 
bugler  cut  Patsey's  name,  a  bugle,  and  the  regimen 
tal  arms  of  the  Ninetieth. 

And  on  the  anniversary  of  Batoche,  the  gray- 
haired  colonel  rises  to  his  feet  in  the  officers'  mess 
of  the  One  Hundred  and  Tenth,  and,  after  "Her 
Majesty/'  he  glances  round  the  board  at  the  officers 
standing  with  bowed  heads,  and  says : 

"  Gentlemen,  I  give  you  Patsey  Doolan,  a  Drum 
mer  of  the  Queen." 

And  from  his  place  in  the  band  Drum -Major 
O'Hooligan  utters  a  fervent  "Rest  his  sowl!" 

U3 


THE   FRECKLED   FOOL 


THE   FRECKLED   FOOL 


TWO  boys  sat  at  the  end  of  a  ridge  which,  hog- 
like,  shovels  its  long  snout  under  the  waters  of 
White  Man's  Lake.  Behind  them  the  Manitoba 
prairie  lay  scorching  brown  in  the  hot  September 
sun,  and  across  the  lake  stretched  the  vast  forests 
of  the  Riding  Mountains.  A  silvery  line  of  dwarf 
birch  straggled  along  the  opposite  shore,  and  from 
the  high,  steep  banks  giant  spruce  and  stately 
poplar  cast  long  shadows  over  the  still  shore- waters. 

The  boys  were  quiet.  The  elder,  a  freckle-faced, 
blue -eyed  lad  of  fourteen,  flung  pebbles  with  a 
vicious  snap  at  a  cheeky  diver,  while  the  younger, 
a  red-skinned  Cree,  stared  with  black,  solemn  eyes 
at  the  whirling  autumn  leaves  which  checkered  the 
lake  with  vivid  patches  of  crimson,  brown,  and 
yellow. 

The  Indian  boy  touched  his  companion  on  the 
shoulder  and  pointed  to  the  water,  working  his 
arms  like  a  frog. 

117 


THE   PROBATIONER 

"Swim,  is  it?" 

The  Cree  lad  nodded.  Slipping  eellike  from  his 
blanket,  he  stepped  forth  in  the  sunshine,  bare, 
lithe,  and  brown.  In  ten  seconds  his  friend  had 
shed  ragged  shirt  and  breeches,  and  stood  beside 
him,  a  dozen  angry  -  looking  bruises  marring  the 
whiteness  of  his  skin.  The  Indian  uttered  a 
clucking  exclamation  of  pity  and  astonishment. 

"Moanidfi1  do  that?"  he  asked. 

"Yes." 

The  soft  moose -eyes  opened  wider.  The  little 
fellow  gazed  pityingly  for  nearly  a  minute ;  then  his 
lips  opened  with  a  snap. 

"Neshota  kill  him  —  that  man!"  he  said,  vi 
ciously. 

A  cheerful  grin  gleamed  on  the  victim's  face. 
"Wy,"  he  replied,  with  a  strong  Cockney  accent, 
"  Vd  smash  yer  like  a  full  skeeter,  Neshota.  This" 
— touching  his  back — "ain't  much.  Yer  orter  see 
the  w'y  they  paints  a  feller  in  Witechapel.  Come 
on!"  he  shouted,  rushing  into  the  lake.  "Let's 
swim!" 

The  Cree's  brown  body  clove  the  water  with 
scarcely  a  splash,  and  they  were  soon  in  the  centre 
of  the  lake,  diving  and  floating,  looking  for  all  the 

1(4  White  man"  (Cree). 
118 


THE  FRECKLED   FOOL 

world  like  a  pair  of  black-and-white  whoohaugh 
cranes. 

"I  ain't  goin'  back  any  more/'  gasped  the  white 
boy,  treading  water. 

Neshota  spurted  a  mouthful  of  spray  into  the  air. 
"  You  come  me/'  he  said,  with  great  gravity.  "  We 
kill  him — that  man!" 

While  the  boys  laved  in  the  cool  waters  of  the 
lake,  Silas  Peters's  ramshackle  buckboard  rattled 
over  the  baked  prairie  towards  the  log  school.  Si 
was  going  to  meeting.  He  was  a  tall,  gaunt  Scottish 
Canadian;  keen,  shrewd,  and  ginger  -  tempered,  a 
driving  worker  and  ferociously  religious.  As  he 
rode  along,  the  sun  smote  down  on  his  head,  the 
suffocating  alkali  dust  filled  his  nostrils,  and  the 
mosquitoes  settled  behind  his  ears;  but  he  sat 
motionless,  stoical  as  an  Indian,  hugging  to  his 
fierce  soul  an  indefinite  feeling  of  persecuted  right 
eousness.  The  buggy  rounded  a  poplar-bluff  and 
passed  a  man  who  was  swinging  along  the  trail. 

Silas  pulled  up.  "Jump  in,  Bill,"  he  said. 
"Pretty  warm  walkhV." 

Bill  Chittock  sank  back  on  the  seat  with  a  sigh 
of  relief. 

"  Hot !"  he  gasped.  "  I  sh'd  swan !  Ye're  travel- 
lin'  light,  Si.  Where's  Ben?" 

119 


THE   PROBATIONER 

"Run  away." 

"You  don't  say!    What's  wrong?" 

"  Lazy,  an'  I  warmed  his  jacket  a  lee  tie.  All  them 
Barnardo  boys  is  lazy,"  he  grumbled.  "Don't  see 
what  they  wanter  be  shippin'  'em  out  here  for,  pes- 
terin'  hard-workin'  folk.  Why  don't  they  keep 
'em  in  Lunnon,  where  they  belong?" 

Bill  glanced  sideways  at  the  hard,  black  visage. 
Silas  Peters  was  reputed  to  be  expert  at  the  game 
of  coining  human  labor  into  hard  cash,  and  noted 
for  his  cruelty  to  his  boys. 

"Ain't  ye  just  a  leetle  hard  on  the  kid?"  he  vent 
ured,  allowing  his  gaze  to  travel  around  the  horizon. 

"Nope!"  snapped  Silas.  "The  freckle-faced  lit 
tle  fool's  no  good.  '  Spare  the  rod  an'  spoil  the 
child '  is  a  good  maxim,  neighbor,  an'  one  as  I  allus 
live  right  up  to." 

The  sermon  had  little  interest  for  Bill  Chittock 
that  Sunday.  The  voice  of  the  minister  sounded 
afar  off,  and  the  face  of  the  slum  child,  pathetic  in 
its  loneliness,  floated  before  him.  His  eyes  moist 
ened  as  he  pictured  his  own  Jack  orphaned  in  a 
strange  land.  Nor  was  Silas  Peters  a  good  listener. 
While  the  preacher  dwelt  on  man's  duty  to  his 
brother,  Si  thought  of  the  stripes  he  had  dealt  the 
runaway,  fiercely  regretting  the  smallness  of  the 

120 


THE   FRECKLED   FOOL 

measure ;  but  when  the  warning  came  to  the  uncon 
verted  he  straightened  up  in  his  seat,  heard  every 
word,  and  applied  them  to  the  absent  sinner. 

" '  Spare  the  rod  an7  spoil  the  child/  "  he  muttered, 
as  he  jogged  homeward.  "  The  boy's  lazy.  I'll  fix 
him." 

"Mother,"  said  Bill  Chittock,  over  the  supper- 
table,  "Peters  ain't  doin'  right  by  that  Barnardo 
boy.  A  young  hoss  shouldn't  be  put  to  a  heavy 
dro'r,  nor  a  lad  to  a  man's  work." 

"Well,  I  allus  said  as  Mr.  Peters  wuz  as  hard  as 
flint,"  snapped  his  wife.  "He  ain't  fit  to  have  a 
beast  under  him,  let  alone  a  boy.  I  declare,  it 
makes  me  real  hot  to  hear  him  pray  in  meetin'." 

"Steady,  ol'  lady!  Steady!"  said  Bill,  softly. 
"There's  none  wi'out  faults.  Don't  be  unchari 
table,  missis." 

"I  ain't,  Bill.  It's  true,  an'  charity  begins  at 
home.  So  there!  It's  too  bad" — she  banged  the 
milk-pans  unmercifully — "  to  see  them  poor  waifs  ill- 
treated.  Keep  an  eye  open  for  the  poor  lad,  Bill." 

"All  right,"  replied  Bill,  and  he  picked  up  his 
pails  and  walked  off  to  the  milking. 

The  lodge-fire  in  front  of  Estahagan's  tepee  died 
to  a  glowing  coal,  and  from  within  came  the  regular 

121 


THE    PROBATIONER 

breathing  of  tired  sleepers.  The  moon  had  just 
topped  the  north  bank  of  White  Man's  Lake,  and 
threw  a  silvery  path  of  light  across  the  sullen  waters. 
In  the  restless,  sighing,  gloomy  woods,  a  night-owl 
hooted;  the  weird  wail  of  a  loon  sounded  down 
the  lake,  and  the  still  air  pulsed  to  the  distant 
howl  of  a  wandering  wolf. 

The  bull's  hide  moved  noiselessly  aside,  and 
Neshota  slipped  through  the  opening.  Squatting 
by  the  fire,  he  stared  across  the  lake  into  the  black 
forest.  A  puff  of  wind  rippled  the  waters.  He 
leaned  forward  with  dilated  nostrils,  his  eyes 
shining  red  in  the  firelight  like  those  of  a  prowling 
lynx,  and  his  ear  caught  and  interpreted  the  rustle 
in  the  woods.  Once  more  the  vibrant  howl  carried 
clown  the  wind.  The  boy  turned  to  listen.  He 
sprang  to  his  feet;  against  the  black  northern  sky 
shone  a  thin  red  line.  A  shrill  whoop  burst  from 
his  lips,  and  before  the  woods  had  ceased  their 
mocking  Estahagan  and  his  squaw  were  standing 
in  the  open. 

"Waugh!"  grunted  the  old  man.  "Big  fire! 
Plenty  burn!" 

Neshota  slipped  into  the  lodge  and  shook  his 
friend. 

"Lemme  'lone!"  growled  Ben.  "It  ain't  five 
122 


THE   FRECKLED   FOOL 

yet.  Lemme — what?  Fire?"  He  leaped  up  and 
ran  out  with  his  thoughts  in  a  confused  jumble. 

The  four  stood  silently  watching  the  conflagration. 
A  wet  spring  and  a  hot  summer  had  forced  a 
luxuriant  growth  on  the  prairie.  The  cropping 
buffalo  were  gone,  the  ranch  herds  had  not  yet 
arrived,  and  over  twenty  thousand  square  miles 
there  waved  eighteen  inches  of  dried  grass  ready 
for  the  burning.  The  whole  northern  horizon  now 
glowed  redly,  and  forked  flames  leaped  skyward 
through  lurid  clouds  of  smoke. 

Ben  looked  at  his  companions.  He  was  nervous 
and  excited.  Prairie  fires  do  not  run  in  London 
slums,  and  this  one  looked  hot.  The  old  Cree  was 
keen,  grave,  attentive;  the  squaw's  heavy  face  was 
as  calm  as  a  copper  mask.  She  put  one  hand  on  her 
boy's  shoulder  and  watched  the  fire.  Neshota  dis 
played  more  emotion.  His  eyes  sparkled  blackly, 
and  his  white  teeth  gleamed  through  his  parted  lips. 
He  looked  at  Ben,  and  stood,  a  small,  brown, 
malicious  imp,  pointing  westward. 

"Him  burn  plenty  soon — that  mooniahl"  he  said, 
vindictively.  "Him  sleep.  Good!" 

For  a  moment  a  feeling  of  fierce  pleasure  possessed 
the  white  boy.  The  bruises  beneath  his  shirt  pained 
dully,  and  here  was  a  fiery  revenge  racing  across  the 
o  123 


THE    PROBATIONER 

prairie.  Then  into  his  mind  flashed  the  picture  of  a 
burning  London  rookery.  He  saw  flames  spout 
through  windows  and  lick  the  white  night-gear  from 
shrieking  women  and  heard  the  agonized  cries  of 
roasting  men.  Then,  with  a  swift  transition,  the 
face  of  Silas  Peters  appeared,  black,  hopeless, 
agonized,  framed  in  smoke  and  fire.  He  threw  up 
his  hands. 

"Come!"  he  shouted. 

The  Crees  stared.  They  had  seen  the  boy's 
bruised  flesh,  which  surely  called  for  killing;  but  if 
it  pleased  the  Great  Spirit  to  take  the  matter  in 
hand,  why  should  they  interfere  with  his  just  de 
cree?  The  white  papoose  was  surely  fire-mad! 

Ben  laid  his  hand  on  Neshota's  arm.  The  boy 
shook  his  head. 

"No,"  he  snapped.  "Him  beat  you,  that 
blackface!  .  .  .  Him  burn!  Good!" 

Ben  glanced  appealingly  to  Estahagan,  but  the 
old  man  stood  like  a  bronze,  cold,  stern,  immovable, 
the  light  of  the  distant  fires  shining  redly  on  his 
wrinkled  face.  What  was  it  to  him  if  the  incumbents 
of  his  birthright  died  the  fiery  death? 

The  boy  turned  and  ran  wildly  across  the  prairie. 
He  had  covered  almost  a  hundred  yards  when 
rapid  hoof-beats  sounded  behind.  A  pony  shot  by 

124 


THE   FRECKLED   FOOL 

and  then  almost  fell  as  the  rider  suddenly  pulled  it 
down  on  its  haunches. 

"Come,"  said  Neshota,  leaning  over.    "Quick!" 

Ben  mounted  behind,  and  the  pony  stretched  on 
a  long,  loping  gallop  into  the  west.  They  were 
riding  across  the  front  of  the  fire,  which  now  raced 
along  about  three  miles  to  the  northward.  Light 
smoke-clouds  flew  by,  the  pungent  odor  of  burning 
grass  stung  their  nostrils,  and  an  occasional  puff 
of  hot  wind  smote  them  on  the  cheek.  A  mile  west 
lay  the  log  shanty  of  Silas  Peters,  and  half  a  mile 
farther  south  the  cabin  of  Bill  Chittock.  For  nearly 
ten  minutes  the  boys  held  steadily  on.  Once  the 
pony  plunged  into  a  badger-hole  and  sent  them 
sprawling,  but  they  were  up  on  the  instant  and  off. 

"Look!"    Neshota  pointed  north 

The  freshening  breeze  had  blown  the  red  line 
into  a  vast  flaming  triangle,  the  apex  of  which 
swept  south  and  the  sides  outward.  Almost  as 
he  spoke  a  black  mass  loomed  against  the  blazing 
point,  then  flared  into  a  pillar  of  fire,  illumining  the 
prairie  for  miles  around. 

"Peters's  'ay  stacks,"  muttered  Ben. 

Half  a  mile  ahead,  the  shanty  stood  np  against 
the  reddish  brown  of  the  lighted  plain;  only  a  mile 
to  the  north  the  fire  leaped  and  crackled.  The 

125 


THE   PROBATIONER 

bronco  covered  the  distance  with  steady  strides, 
spun  round  a  bluff  without  slackening  speed,  and 
shot  up  the  rise.  The  house  was  dark  and  quiet. 
Ben  jumped  from  the  pony  and  hammered  the  door. 

"Fire!"  he  shouted.     "Come  out!     Fire!" 

The  shanty  trembled  as  the  man  leaped  from  his 
bed.  There  was  a  stir  and  shuffle  inside,  the  door 
flew  open,  and  Silas  strode  out  without  waiting  to 
put  on  hat  or  shoes. 

"You,  is  it?"  he  growled. 

He  stared  at  the  running  fire,  then  ran  round 
the  front  of  the  house.  Ben  followed  slowly. 
When  he  turned  the  corner  Silas  was  on  his  knees, 
striking  a  match.  The  boy  stared.  Then  the 
meaning  dawned  upon  him — the  man  was  going  to 
fight  fire  with  fire,  regardless  of  the  hazard  of  his 
neighbors. 

"Stop!"  he  shouted. 

Silas  glanced  up.  "  What's  the  matter  wi'  you?" 
he  snarled.  "Lookin'  for  another  lickhV?"  The 
match  flickered  out,  but  he  struck  another. 

"Stop,  I  say!"  repeated  the  boy.  "You'll  burn 
up  Chittock's!  Give  me  time  to  warn  'em!" 

"Shet  up!"  yelled  Silas.     "It's  me  or  them!" 

He  bent  over  the  match,  shielding  it  from  the 
wind.  Ben  slipped  off  his  cap.  The  crimson  light 

126 


THE   FRECKLED   FOOL 

gleamed  on  his  fair  hair.  To  the  south  he  could  see 
Chittock's  shanty,  quiet  and  still,  and  he  knew 
that  a  dry  chip-pile  led  from  the  grass  to  the  very 
wall.  He  threw  the  cap  with  all  his  force,  and 
struck  the  match  from  the  man's  hand. 

Peters  sprang  to  his  feet,  his  black  face  convulsed 
with  passion.  "Ye  freckle  -  faced  little  devil!" 
he  roared.  "Til  kill  ye!" 

He  rushed  at  the  boy  and  struck  savagely.  As 
Ben  fell,  a  piercing  yell  rang  out.  A  brown  mass 
swept  around  the  corner  and  smote  the  man  with 
tremendous  force.  He  was  thrown  twenty  feet, 
and  lay  fighting  for  his  breath  while  Ben  struggled 
to  his  feet. 

Neshota  leaned  over  and  held  out  his  hand. 
"Quick!"  he  exclaimed.  "Blackface  up  plenty 
soon!" 

As  they  shot  down  the  slope  to  the  south,  Si 
Peters  rose  from  the  ground.  Looking  back,  Ben 
saw  his  figure  outlined  against  the  red  sky,  black, 
portentous,  threatening.  His  fist  was  raised  in 
menace  for  a  moment,  then  he  bent  over.  A 
flickering  flame  sprang  up  under  his  hand,  widened, 
and  raced  down  the  slope  after  the  running  pony. 

The  double  load  and  the  fast  pace  were  telling 
on  the  bronco,  and  though  Neshota  scored  his 

127 


THE   PROBATIONER 

flanks  with  a  pliant  willow,  the  beast  dropped  into 
a  walk.  Over  his  shoulder  Ben  saw  the  main 
fire  divide  and  slip  by  the  burned  ground  around 
the  shanty;  then,  reunited,  it  swept  like  a  red 
death  after  the  fire  of  Silas  Peters.  He  slid  to  the 
ground. 

"Lick  'im  up!"  he  yelled,  hoarsely.  "You'll 
make  it  alone!" 

His  voice  sounded  like  a  whisper  amid  the  roar 
of  the  flames,  but  Neshota  understood.  He  hesi 
tated.  Ben  decided  for  him.  Pie  struck  the  bronco 
sharply  on  the  flank,  and  the  beast  plunged  forward 
and  vanished  in  the  smoke. 

Crouching  close  to  the  ground  to  get  the  purer 
air,  the  boy  struck  a  match  and  fired  the  grass. 
It  caught,  and  a  tongue  of  flame  shot  forward, 
leaving  a  rift  of  blackened  soil  between  two  lines 
of  fire.  He  crept  upon  the  burned  path  and 
followed,  almost  choked  with  smoke  and  heat. 
The  sweat  dried  on  his  skin,  and  the  skin  blistered 
and  burned.  Burning  embers  sailed  through  the  air 
and  dropped  around,  but  with  head  close  to  the 
ground  he  crept  steadily  on. 

Twenty  square  yards  of  burned  prairie  protected 
him  when  the  fire  flashed  by.  For  a  second,  earth 
and  sky  blazed.  A  leaping,  soaring,  searing,  crack- 

128 


THE    FRECKLED   FOOL 

ling  wave  rolled  over  him,  leaving  everything  black, 
smoky,  smudgy,  acrid.  He  raised  his  face  from 
between  his  hands  and  tore  off  his  burning  shirt. 
His  hands  and  knees  were  seared  by  the  hot  embers, 
he  was  sooty  from  head  to  foot,  but,  heedless  of 
his  own  pain,  he  staggered  to  his  feet  and  peered 
through  the  smoke  towards  Chittock's. 

A  fiery  ring  was  eating  outward  from  the  shanty, 
and  within  the  circle  dark  figures  rushed  to  and  fro. 
And  even  as  he  looked  the  red  death  shot  by, 
leaving  the  cabin  standing  on  the  black  prairie. 
This  he  saw,  and  then  the  ground  began  to  heave 
wildly  beneath  him.  Chittock's  cabin  danced  madly 
to  and  fro  across  the  horizon.  He  tried  to  steady 
himself,  and  spent  the  dregs  of  his  strength  in  the 
effort.  He  fell  forward  on  his  face. 

Twenty  minutes  afterwards  Bill  Chittock  picked 
up  the  fire-scarred  body  and  carried  it  gently  home. 
The  burned  hands  and  feet  were  smothered  in 
baking-soda  and  swathed  in  cotton  batting,  but  the 
sun  had  peeped  over  the  horizon  on  a  black  and 
smudgy  desert  before  Ben  recovered  consciousness. 
His  opening  eyes  rested  on  Mother  Chittock  tender 
ly  bathing  his  blistered  face,  and  Neshota  sat  on 
the  floor  watching  with  solemn  eyes. 

"Feeling  better,  deary?" 
129 


THE   PROBATIONER 

Ben  nodded  and  grinned  with  delight  at  Neshota's 
grave  face.  The  little  Cree  slipped  across  the  floor 
and  squatted  by  the  bed.  The  door  opened  and 
Bill  Chittock  walked  in. 

"McDonald's  burned  out,  I  reckon/'  he  said; 
"but  Peters's  shanty's  there  yet." 

"More's  the  pity,"  snapped  his  wife. 

"Steady,  ol'  lady!"  said  Bill,  softly.  "Don't  be 
uncharitable." 

"I  ain't,  Bill  Chittock.  Ye  sh'd  jest  see  that 
poor  boy's  back — flayed!"  she  snorted,  angrily. 
"Give  me,"  she  continued,  laying  her  hand  kindly 
on  Neshota's  shoulder,  "  a  brown  skin  afore  a  black 
heart,  an'  a  freckled  face  with  a  white  soul." 

Neshota  glanced  up  in  surprise.  His  eyes 
glowed. 

" Squaw  good!"  he  muttered.  " But  I  kill  him— 
that  man!" 


A    SON   OF   COPPER   SIN 


A   SON    OF   COPPER    SIN 


WITHIN  his  bull's-hide  tepee,  old  Iz-le-roy  lay 
and  fed  his  little  fire,  stick  by  stick.  He  was 
sick,  very  sick — sick  with  the  sickness  which  is  made 
up  of  equal  parts  of  hunger,  old  age,  fever,  and 
despair.  Just  one  week  before  his  tribe  had  head 
ed  up  for  Winnipegoos,  where  the  whitefish  may  be 
had  for  the  taking  and  the  moose  winter  in  their 
yards.  But  a  sick  man  may  not  travel  the  long 
trail,  so  Iz-le-roy  had  remained  at  White  Man's 
Lake.  And  Batiste,  his  son,  stayed  also.  Not 
that  it  was  expected  of  him,  for,  according  to  forest 
law,  the  man  who  cannot  hunt  had  better  die;  but 
Batiste  had  talked  with  the  gentle  priest  of  Ellice, 
and  had  chosen  to  depart  from  the  custom  of  his 
fathers. 

And  things  had  gone  badly,  very  badly,  since  the 
tribe  had  marched.  North,  south,  east,  and  west, 
the  round  of  the  plains,  and  through  the  leafless 

133 


THE   PROBATIONER 

woods,  the  boy  had  hunted  without  so  much  as  a 
jack-rabbit  falling  to  his  gun.  For  two  days  no 
food  had  passed  their  lips,  and  now  he  was  gone 
forth  to  do  that  which  Iz-le-roy  had  almost  sooner 
die  than  have  him  do — ask  aid  of  the  settlers. 

"Yea,  my  son,"  the  old  warrior  had  faltered, 
"  these  be  they  that  stole  the  prairies  of  our  fathers. 
Yet  it  may  be  that  Big  Laugh,  best  of  an  evil  brood, 
will  give  us  of  his  store  of  flour  and  bacon." 

So,  after  placing  a  plentiful  stock  of  wood  close  to 
the  old  man's  hand,  Batiste  had  closed  the  tepee 
flap  and  laced  it.  At  the  end  of  an  hour's  fast 
walking,  during  which  the  northern  sky  grew  dark 
with  the  threat  of  still  more  cruel  weather,  he  sighted 
through  the  drift  a  spurting  column  of  smoke. 

The  smoke  marked  the  cabin  of  John  Sterling, 
and  also  his  present  occupation.  Within,  John  sat 
and  fired  the  stove,  while  Avis,  his  daughter,  set  out 
the  breakfast  dishes,  and  his  wife  turned  the  sizzling 
bacon  in  the  pan. 

"I  declare,"  exclaimed  the  woman,  pausing, 
knife  in  hand,  "if  the  bread  ain't  froze  solid!" 

"Cold  last  night,"  commented  Sterling.  "Put 
it  in  the  oven,  Mary." 

As  she  stooped  to  obey,  the  door  quietly  opened 
and  Batiste  slipped  in.  His  moose  moccasins  made 

134 


A   SON   OF   COPPER   SIN 

no  noise,  and  he  was  standing  close  beside  her  when 
she  straightened.  She  jumped  and  gasped: 

"Lor'  V  mercy!  How  you  do  scare  one!  Why 
don't  you  knock?" 

Batiste  stared.  It  was  the  custom  of  his  tribe 
thus  to  enter  a  house — a  custom  established  before 
jails  were  built  or  locks  invented.  His  eye  there 
fore  roamed  questioningly  from  one  to  another  until 
Sterling  asked : 

"What  d'  you  want,  young  fellow?" 

Batis  e  pointed  to  the  frying-pan.  "Ba-kin!" 
he  muttered.  "  The  ba-kin  of  Big  Laugh,  I  want. 
Iz-le-roy  sick,  plenty  sick.  Him  want  flour,  him 
want  ba-kin." 

The  thought  of  his  father's  need  flashed  into  his 
mind,  and,  realizing  the  impossibility  of  expressing 
himself  in  English,  he  broke  into  a  voluble  stream 
of  Cree,  punctuating  its  rolling  gutturals  with  ener 
getic  signs.  While  he  was  speaking,  Avis  ceased 
rattling  her  dishes. 

"He  looks  awful  hungry,  dad,"  she  whispered 
as  Bat'ste  finished. 

Now,  though  Sterling  was  a  large-souled,  generous 
man,  and  jovial — as  evidenced  by  his  name  of  Big 
Laugh — it  happened  that,  during  the  past  summer,  a 
roving  band  of  Sioux  had  camped  hard  by  and 

135 


THE   PROBATIONER 

begged  him  out  of  patience.  That  morning,  too, 
the  threatening  weather  had  spoiled  an  intended 
trip  to  Russel  and  touched  his  temper — of  which 
he  had  a  good  man's  share. 

"Can't  help  it,  girl!"  he  snapped.  "If  we  feed 
every  hungry  Injun  that  comes  along,  we'll  soon 
be  out  of  house  an'  home.  Can't  do  anything  for 
you,  boy." 

"Him  want  ba-kin,"  Batiste  said. 

"Well,  you  can  just  want." 

"  Iz-le-roy  sick,  him  want  ba-kin,"  the  boy  pleaded. 

His  persistence  irritated  Sterling,  and,  crowding 
down  the  better  feeling  which  spoke  for  the  lad, 
he  sprang  up,  threw  wide  the  door,  and  shouted: 

" Get,  you  son  of  copper  sin!    Get,  now!    Quick!" 

"Father!"  pleaded  the  girl. 

But  he  took  no  heed,  and  held  wide  the  door. 

Into  Batiste's  face  flashed  surprise,  anger,  and 
resentment.  Surprise,  because  he  had  not  be 
lieved  all  the  things  Iz-le-roy  had  told  him  of  the 
white  men,  but  had  preferred  to  think  them  all 
like  Father  Francis.  But  now?  His  father  was 
right.  They  were  all  cold  and  merciless,  their 
hearts  hard  as  their  steel  axe-heads ,  their  tongues 
sharp  as  the  cutting  -  edge.  With  head  held  high 
he  marched  through  the  door,  away  from  the  hot 

136 


A   SON    OF   COPPER    SIN 

stove,  the  steaming  coffee,  and  the  delicious  smell 
of  frying  bacon,  out  into  the  cold  storm. 

"Oh,  father!"  remonstrated  his  wife,  as  Sterling 
closed  the  door. 

"Look  here,  Mary!"  he  answered,  testily.  "We 
fed  a  whole  tribe  last  summer,  didn't  we?" 

"  But  this  lad  didn't  belong  to  them,"  she  pleaded. 

"All  the  worse,"  he  rejoined.  "Do  an  Injun  a 
good  turn  an'  he  never  forgets.  Give  him  his 
breakfast,  an'  he  totes  his  tribe  along  to  dinner." 

"Well,"  sighed  the  good  woman,  "I'm  real 
sorry." 

For  a  few  moments  both  were  silent.  And 
presently,  as  the  man's  kindly  nature  began  to 
triumph  over  his  irritation,  he  hitched  uneasily  in 
his  chair.  Already  he  felt  ashamed.  Casting  a 
sheepish  glance  at  his  wife,  he  rose,  walked. to  the 
door,  and  looked  out.  But  a  wall  of  whirling  white 
blocked  his  vision — Batiste  was  gone  beyond  recall. 

"Where's  Avis?"  he  asked,  returning  to  the 
stove. 

"A- vis!"  called  her  mother. 

But  there  was  no  answer.  For  a  moment  man 
and  wife  stared  each  other  in  the  eye;  then,  moved 
by  a  common  impulse,  they  walked  into  the  kitchen. 
There,  on  the  table,  lay  the  half  of  a  fresh-cut  side 

137 


THE    PROBATIONER 

of  bacon;  the  bread-box  was  open  and  a  crusty  loaf 
missing;  the  girl's  shawl  was  gone  from  its  peg  and 
her  overshoes  from  their  corner. 

"Good  God!"  gasped  the  settler.  "The  child's 
gone  after  him!" 

They  knew  the  risk.  All  morning  the  storm  had 
been  brewing,  and  now  it  thundered  by,  a  veritable 
blizzard.  The  blizzard!  King  of  storms!  It  com 
pels  the  settler  to  string  a  wire  from  house  to  stables, 
it  sets  men  circling  in  the  snow,  it  catches  little 
children  coming  home  from  school  and  buries  them 
in  monstrous  drifts. 

Without  another  word  Sterling  wound  a  scarf 
about  his  neck,  grabbed  his  badger  mitts,  and 
rushed  outside. 

When  Avis  softly  closed  the  kitchen  door  she 
could  just  see  Batiste  rounding  a  bluff  that  lay  a 
furlong  west  of  her  father's  stables.  She  started 
after  him;  but  by  the  time  she  had  covered  half 
the  distance  a  sea  of  white  swept  in  between  and 
blotted  him  from  view.  Then  she  ought  to  have 
turned;  but  she  pushed  on,  hoping  for  a  break  in  the 
scud.  She  never  even  made  the  bluff.  The 
furious  wind  walled  her  about  with  fleecy  clouds; 
unconsciously  she  bore  off  to  the  left,  and  was  soon 
travelling  on  the  arc  of  a  wide  circle. 

138 


A   SON   OF   COPPER   SIN 

And  when  she  found  that  she  had  missed  the 
bluff,  and  tried  to  retrace  her  steps,  the  drift  had 
filled  her  tracks.  Somewhere  near  by,  she  knew, 
ran  the  Russel  trail,  a  hard,  well -beaten  road, 
packed  level  with  the  topmost  snow.  If  she  could 
only  strike  it!  So  she  turned  to  the  right  and 
turned  to  the  left,  but  one  turn  offset  the  other  and 
the  leftward  swing  kept  her  ever  on  the  circle. 
Thus  she  struggled  on,  and  on,  and  still  on,  until, 
in  spite  of  the  seventy  degrees  of  frost,  the  perspira 
tion  burst  from  every  pore  and  the  scud  melted  on 
her  glowing  face.  This  was  well  enough — so  long 
as  she  kept  moving;  but  when  the  time  came  that 
she  must  stop,  she  would  freeze  all  the  quicker  for 
her  present  warmth. 

This,  being  born  and  bred  of  the  prairie,  Avis 
knew,  and  the  knowledge  kept  her  toiling,  toiling 
on,  until  her  tired  legs  and  leaden  feet  compelled 
a  pause  in  the  shelter  of  a  bluff.  She  was  hungry, 
too.  All  this  time  she  had  carried  the  bread  and 
meat,  and  now,  unconscious  of  a  pair  of  slant  eyes 
which  glared  from  a  willow  thicket,  she  broke  the 
loaf  and  began  to  eat.  While  she  ate,  the  green 
lights  in  the  eyes  flared  brighter,  a  long  red  tongue 
licked  the  drool  from  grinning  jaws,  and  forth  from 
his  covert  stole  a  lank,  gray  wolf. 

*°  139 


THE   PROBATIONER 

Avis  uttered  a  startled  cry.  This  was  no  coyote, 
to  be  chased  with  a  stick,  but  a  wolf  of  timber 
stock,  a  great  beast,  heavy,  prick  eared,  strong  as  a 
mastiff.  His  nose  puckered  in  a  wicked  snarl  as  he 
slunk  in  half-circles  across  her  front.  He  was  un 
decided.  So,  while  he  circled,  trying  to  make 
up  his  mind,  drawing  a  little  nearer  at  every  turn, 
Avis  fell  back — back  towards  the  bluff,  keeping  her 
white  face  always  to  the  creeping  beast. 

It  was  a  small  bluff,  lacking  a  tree  large  enough 
to  climb,  but  sufficient  for  her  purpose.  On  its 
edge  she  paused,  threw  the  bacon  to  the  wolf,  and 
then  ran  desperately.  Once  clear  of  the  scrub,  she 
ran  on,  plunging  through  drifts,  stumbling,  falling, 
to  rise  again  and  push  her  flight.  Of  direction  she 
took  no  heed;  her  only  thought  was  to  place  dis 
tance  between  herself  and  the  red-mouthed  brute. 
But  when,  weary  and  breathless,  she  paused  for 
rest,  out  of  the  drab  drift  stole  the  lank,  gray 
shadow. 

The  brute  crouched  a  few  yards  away,  licking  his 
sinful  lips,  winking  his  devil  eyes.  She  still  had 
the  loaf.  As  she  threw  it,  the  wolf  sprang  and 
snapped  it  in  mid -air.  Then  she  ran,  and  ran, 
and  ran,  as  the  tired  doe  runs  from  the  hounds. 
For  what  seemed  to  her  an  interminable  time, 

140 


A   SON   OF   COPPER   SIN 

though  it  was  less  than  five  minutes,  she  held  on; 
then  stopped,  spent,  unable  to  take  another  step. 
Looking  back,  she  saw  nothing  of  the  wolf;  but 
just  when  she  began  to  move  slowly  forward, 
thinking  he  had  given  up  the  chase,  a  gray  shape 
loomed  right  ahead. 

Uttering  a  bitter  cry,  she  turned  once  more, 
tottered  a  few  steps,  and  fainted. 

As,  wildly  calling  his  daughter's  name,  Sterling 
rushed  by  his  stables,  the  wind  smote  him  with 
tremendous  power.  Like  a  living  thing  it  buffeted 
him  about  the  ears,  tore  at  his  breath,  poured  over 
him  an  avalanche  of  snow.  Still  he  pressed  on, 
and  gained  the  bluff  which  Avis  missed. 

As  he  paused  to  draw  a  free  breath,  his  eye  picked 
out  a  fresh-made  track.  Full  of  a  sudden  hope,  he 
shouted.  A  voice  answered,  and  as  he  rushed 
eagerly  forward  a  dark  figure  came  through  the 
drift  to  meet  him.  It  was  Batiste. 

"What  you  want?"  he  asked. 

Sterling  was  cruelly  disappointed,  but  he  an 
swered  quickly:  "You  see  my  girl?  Yes,  my 
girl,"  he  repeated,  noting  the  lad's  look  of  wonder. 
"  Young  white  squaw,  you  see  um  ?" 

"Mooniah  papoose  ?"  queried  Batiste. 
141 


THE    PROBATIONER 

"Yes,  yes!  She  follow  you.  Want  give  you 
bread,  want  give  you  bacon.  All  gone,  all  lost!" 
Sterling  finished  with  a  despairing  gesture. 

"Squaw  marche  to  me?  Ba-kin  for  me?"  ques 
tioned  Batiste. 

"Yes,  yes!"  cried  Sterling,  in  a  flurry  of  im 
patience. 

Batiste's  dark  eyes  softened,  and  he  gave  vent  to 
low  duckings  of  distress.  Then,  striding  out  from 
the  bluff,  he  motioned  Sterling  to  follow.  Straight 
as  the  wild  duck's  flight  the  boy  led  on,  while  the 
man  followed,  wondering.  To  him  all  points  of  the 
compass  were  alike;  yet  the  Cree  moved  confidently 
through  the  smother,  planting  one  foot  directly 
before  the  other,  Indian  fashion,  so  that  a  line  drawn 
along  his  trail  would  have  cut  the  centre  of  every 
track.  Once,  passing  through  a  slough,  he  stooped 
and  fingered  the  long  grass  which  poked  through 
the  snow,  and  then  Sterling  remembered  that  the 
first  storm  of  the  season  had  fixed  it  north  and 
south.  Shortly  after,  Batiste  stopped  and  sniffed 
the  air. 

"What's  the  matter?"  shouted  the  man. 

"Smell  um  smoke,"  Batiste  answered. 

Swinging  a  little  to  the  right,  he  bore  off  north 
east,  and  in  a  few  minutes  landed  the  settler  at  his 

142 


A   SON   OF   COPPER   SIN 

own  door.  Avis  had  not  returned,  and  her  mother 
sat  trembling  by  the  stove.  On  her  husband's  en 
trance  she  jumped  up,  wailing: 

"It's  a  judgment  on  us!  It's  a  judgment  on  us, 
John,  for  turning  out  that  boy!  Why,  there  he  is!" 
she  gasped,  as  Batiste  followed  in. 

"I  find  um,"  he  said,  softly. 

"Not  till  you've  drunk  some  coffee,"  Sterling 
interposed,  for  the  boy  was  again  making  for  the 
door.  "  Fix  him  a  cup,  mother." 

While  the  boy  sipped,  the  man  paced  uneasily  to 
and  fro,  and  the  mother  listened,  shuddering,  to  the 
thunder  of  the  storm.  Both  sighed  with  relief 
when  he  set  down  the  cup. 

"Well?"  interrogated  Sterling. 

Briefly  Batiste  laid  down  his  plan,  eking  out  his 
scanty  English  with  vivid  signs.  In  snow,  the 
white  man  rolls  along  like  a  clumsy  buffalo,  planting 
his  feet  far  out  to  the  right  and  left.  And  because 
his  right  leg  steps  a  little  longer  than  the  left,  he 
always,  when  lost,  travels  in  a  circle.  Wherefore 
Batiste  indicated  that  they  would  move  along 
parallel  lines,  just  shouting-distance  apart,  so  as  to 
cover  the  largest  possible  ground. 

"Young  squaw  marche  slow.  She  there!'''  He 
pointed  north  and  east  with  a  gesture  so  sure  and 

143 


THE   PROBATIONER 

certain  that  the  mother  uttered  a  low  cry  and  the 
father  stepped  involuntarily  towards  the  door. 
"Yes,  there!" 

In  front  of  the  cabin  Batiste  paused  until  Sterling 
got  his  distance;  then,  keeping  the  wind  slanting  to 
his  left  cheek,  he  moved  off  north  and  east.  Ever 
and  anon  he  stopped  to  give  forth  a  piercing  yell. 
If  Sterling  answered,  he  moved  on;  if  not — as  hap 
pened  twice — he  travelled  in  his  direction  until  they 
were  once  more  in  touch.  And  so,  shouting  and 
yelling,  they  bore  off  north  and  east  for  a  long  half- 
hour. 

After  that,  Batiste  began  to  throw  his  cries  both 
east  and  west,  for  he  judged  that  they  must  be 
closing  on  the  girl.  And  suddenly,  from  the  north, 
came  a  weird,  tremulous  answer.  He  started,  and, 
throwing  up  his  head,  emitted  the  wolf's  long  howl. 
Leaning  forward,  he  waited — his  very  soul  in  his 
ears — until,  shrill  yet  deep-chested  and  quivering 
with  ferocity,  came  back  the  answering  howl. 

No  coyote  gave  forth  that  cry,  and  Batiste  knew 
it. 

"Timber  wolf!"  he  muttered. 

Turning  due  north,  he  gave  the  settler  a  warning 
yell,  then  sped  like  a  hunted  deer  in  the  direction 
of  the  cry.  He  ran  with  the  long,  lithe  lope  which 

144 


A   SON   OF   COPPER   SIN 

tires  down  even  the  swift  elk,  and  in  five  minutes 
covered  nearly  a  mile.  Once  more  he  gave  forth 
the  wolf -howl.  An  answer  came  from  close  by,  but 
as  he  sprang  forward  it  ended  with  a  frightened 
yelp.  Through  a  break  in  the  drift  he  spied  a 
moving  figure;  then  a  swirl  swept  in  and  blotted  it 
from  view. 

But  he  had  seen  the  girl.  A  dozen  leaps  and  he 
was  close  upon  her.  Just  as  he  opened  his  mouth 
to  speak,  she  screamed  and  plunged  headlong. 

When  consciousness  returned,  Avis  was  lying  in 
her  own  bed.  Her  mother  bent  over  her;  Sterling 
stood  near  by.  All  around  were  the  familiar  things 
of  life,  but  her  mind  still  retained  a  vivid  picture 
of  her  flight,  and  she  sprang  up  screaming: 

"The  wolf!    Oh,  the  wolf!" 

"  Hush,  dearie/'  her  mother  soothed.  "  It  wasn't 
a  wolf,  but  just  the  Cree  boy." 

Batiste  had  told  how  she  screamed  at  the  sight 
of  his  gray,  snow -covered  blanket,  and  the  cry 
had  carried  even  to  her  father.  But  when  she  re 
covered  sufficiently  to  tell  her  story,  the  father 
shuddered  and  the  mother  exclaimed : 

"John,  we  owe  that  boy  more  than  ever  we  can 
pay!" 

"We  do!"  he  fervently  agreed. 
145 


THE    PROBATIONER 

Just  then  the  latch  of  the  outer  door  clicked,  and 
a  cold  blast  streamed  into  the  bedroom.  Jumping 
up,  the  mother  cried : 

"Run,  John!     He's  going!" 

"Here,  young  fellow!"  shouted  the  settler. 

Batiste  paused  in  the  doorway,  his  hand  on  the 
latch,  his  slight  body  silhouetted  against  the  white 
of  the  storm. 

"Where  you  going,  boy?" 

"To  Iz-le-roy,"  he  answered.  "Him  sick. 
Bezhou!" 

Sterling  strode  forward  and  caught  him  by  the 
shoulder.  "No,  you  don't,"  he  said — "not  that 
way."  Then,  turning,  he  called  into  the  bedroom: 
"Here,  mother!  Get  out  all  your  wraps  while  I 
hitch  the  ponies.  And  fix  up  our  best  bed  for  a 
sick  man." 


A   SAGA    OF    54 


A    SAGA    OF    54 


BEYOND  the  parallel  of  54°,  a  hundred  miles 
north  of  Cumberland  House — named  after  his 
Grace,  the  " Butcher" — and  two  hundred  miles  from 
Pelly,  lies  the  country  of  the  Makwas.  If  you 
should  wish  to  go  there,  a  team  of  shaganappy 
ponies,  if  they  be  tough,  will  run  you  up  from  Pelly 
in  five  days.  The  High  Commissioner  of  the  Hudson 
Bay  makes  it  in  three,  but  his  horses  are  then  turned 
out  for  a  year's  rest.  You  cannot  afford  this.  Be 
tween  this  country  and  the  Lake  of  Amisk  lie  the 
pot-hole  lands.  Here,  say  the  Makwas,  the  Great 
Spirit  rested  from  his  labors,  and,  blind  to  the 
chaos  at  his  feet,  looked  forth  on  his  work  and  called 
it  good.  But  on  arising  to  go  thence,  says  the  le 
gend,  he  saw  the  evil  of  the  land,  and,  because  it  had 
made  him  to  say  the  thing  which  was  not,  he  cursed 
it  forevermore.  And  so,  seamed,  rugged,  broken, 
bordered  by  forests  of  gloomy  spruce,  crude,  just  as 
it  dropped  from  his  hand,  it  endures  to  this  day. 

149 


THE    PROBATIONER 

Over  its  scarred  surface  writhe  fathomless  earth- 
cracks.  Bleak  sand-hills  lie  cheek  by  jowl  with 
black  morasses;  and  huge  pits — the  pot-holes  of  the 
Makwas — gape  amid  shaking  quagmires  and  treach 
erous  muskegs.  A  thousand  lakes  dot  the  bush. 
From  their  waters  petrified  trees  thrust  skeleton 
limbs.  Over  the  inky  depths  the  loon  races  his 
shadow,  the  hawk  shrieks  a  malediction  from  the 
sky,  and  at  night  the  owl  bells  anathema  in  the 
sleeping  woods.  Accursed,  devil-haunted,  peopled 
by  wild  beasts,  it  is  avoided  of  Cree  and  Sioux  and 
Makwa,  and  even  the  trappers  of  Fort  a  la  Corne 
give  it  a  wide  berth. 

The  last  rays  of  a  blood-red  sun  flamed  over  the 
pot-hole  lands,  crimsoning  the  waters  and  clothing 
the  abomination  of  desolation  with  scarlet  robes  and 
gold.  From  the  eastern  face  of  a  deep  pit  the  rose 
light  glanced  on  the  upturned  countenance  of  a 
man.  He  stood  at  the  bottom.  All  around  the 
rock  sloped  up  and  out,  so  that  a  stone  dropped 
from  the  top  would  have  landed  ten  feet  from  the 
base.  He  was  trapped;  a  cat  could  not  have  scaled 
that  overhanging  surface. 

At  the  foot  of  the  cliff  the  wearing  hand  of  time 
had  deposited  a  loose  bank  of  sand  and  rubble.  On 
this  the  man  stood,  the  slack  of  a  lariat  coiled  in  his 

150 


A   SAGA   OF   54° 

left  hand,  his  eyes  fixed  on  a  storm-riven  stump  that 
leaned  over  the  cliff.  Slowly  at  first,  but  with 
gradually  increasing  speed,  he  swung  the  noose  until 
it  whirled  in  whistling  circles.  Suddenly  he  jerked 
it  up  and  out.  Like  a  darting  cobra  it  rose,  whip 
ping  out  the  coils,  hovered  for  an  instant,  straight 
and  rigid,  then  curved  easily  over  the  stump. 

"  Bien!"  the  man  exclaimed,  throwing  up  his  arms. 
He  had  forgotten  his  precarious  footing.  Over 
balancing,  he  rolled,  the  centre  of  a  small  landslide, 
to  the  bottom  of  the  heap.  He  sat  up,  wiped  the 
sweat  from  his  eyes,  and  gazed  at  the  swinging  rope. 

"Peste!"  he  muttered.  "Two  days  in  this  pit  of 
hell.  Mere  de  Dieu!  Two  days!" 

Scrambling  up  the  heap,  he  began  to  climb, 
gripping  the  rope  with  knees  and  feet.  Three  yards 
from  the  top  he  stopped  dead.  A  grim  face  looked 
down  from  above.  The  climber's  wrists  felt  as  big 
as  buckets,  his  arms  were  pulling  from  the  sockets, 
but,  staring  defiantly  upward,  he  hung  on,  swinging 
in  mid-air.  A  minute  passed.  Then  a  big  hand 
slipped  by  the  face  and  shook  the  rope.  The  man 
dropped,  and  the  next  moment  the  lariat  fell  from 
above,  coiling  across  his  body. 

Stunned  and  badly  shaken,  he  lay  on  the  sand 
while  the  sun  slipped  into  his  dusky  blanket  and 

151 


THE   PROBATIONER 

the  twilight  faded.  Up  rose  the  noises  of  the  night. 
Frogs  croaked  in  the  sloughs,  a  fox  barked  among 
the  sand  -  hills,  a  wolf  howled  in  the  bush.  A 
bronze  moon  peeped  at  him  over  the  tree-tops,  then 
climbed  her  silver  path. 

The  man  stirred,  sat  up,  and  glanced  above. 
The  stump  stood,  solitary,  clearly  outlined  against 
the  moonlit  sky.  Noiselessly  mounting  the  heap, 
he  tried  another  cast.  It  missed.  He  tried  again, 
and  again,  and  again,  and  still  again,  and  many 
more  times,  until,  towards  midnight,  the  tightening 
rope  sent  a  welcome  thrill  along  his  arm.  He 
leaned  forward,  listening.  The  soughing  night- 
wind,  the  myriad-tongued  mosquito,  the  babel  of 
frogs,  these  were  all  he  heard. 

" So!"  he  breathed.  "The  weasel  sleeps." 
He  seized  the  rope,  knife  between  teeth,  ready 
to  climb,  but,  as  he  reached  up,  it  flew  through  his 
hand,  rose,  and  fell  about  him.  Sitting  down,  he 
coiled  the  lariat,  then  lay  over  and  dozed.  Once 
more,  in  the  gray  morning,  he  lassoed  the  stump; 
and  this  time  his  head  levelled  the  bank  before 
the  silent  watcher  snapped  him  from  the  rope. 
He  fell,  turning  head  over  heels,  and  lay  until  the 
rising  sun  flushed  the  east  with  trembling  rose  and 
gold. 

152 


A   SAGA   OF   54° 

When  the  sun  arched  to  the  meridian  he  crawled 
into  the  shade  of  the  overhanging  bank.  It  was 
hot.  The  pot-hole  glowed  like  a  devil's  oven. 
Waves  of  heat  rolled  down  from  the  high  cliff,  the 
sand-bank  glared,  the  stones  scorched  his  feet. 
Towards  noon  he  stripped.  Then  lively  sand- 
lizards  ran  over  him,  and  buzzing  flies  nipped  pieces 
from  his  body.  Hot,  hungry,  and  tired,  he  tried  to 
forget  his  misery  in  sleep,  but  choking  thirst  kept 
him  wide-awake  until  the  sun  ran  down  the  western 
grade.  Then  he  dozed. 

The  clip  of  a  cutting  axe  brought  him  flying  into 
the  open.  There,  against  the  fiery  sunset  glow, 
stood  a  man,  chopping  away  the  stump. 

"  Devil  !" 

The  man  looked  down.  "What  is  it,  M'sieu  The- 
Factor-That-Is-To-Be?"  he  sneered.  "It  is  warm 
down  there,  eh?  I  see  m'sieu  affects  negligee  since 
he  inhabited  the  lower  regions." 

"It  is  warm,  yes."  The  prisoner's  hand  was 
fumbling  behind  his  back.  "But,  see  you,  Gene 
Lascurrettes,  it  is  not  so  hot  as — hell!"  The  knife 
flashed  from  his  finger-tips  straight  at  the  chopper's 
back,  who  just  then  stepped  sidewise  to  reach 
farther  round  the  tree.  It  whizzed  between  arm 
and  body,  and  stuck  quivering  in  the  stump. 

153 


THE    PROBATIONER 

"So!"  exclaimed  Lascurrettes,  swinging  slowly 
round.  "The  little  knife!  My  own,  too,  I  had 
forgotten.  Careless!  An'  this  was  a  good  throw 
of  the  knife.  Forty  feet  if  an  inch!  Excellent! 
But  see  you" — he  pulled  the  knife  and  threw 
it  on  the  ground--  "now  is  your  last  bolt  spent. 
An'  M'sieu  The-Factor-That-Is-To-Be  will  soon 
have  opportunity  of  comparing  this" — he  waved 
his  hand  airily — "with  hell."  The  prisoner  made 
no  reply.  He  sat  on  the  sand-heap  quietly  playing 
with  the  coils  of  his  lariat.  "  But  m'sieu  tires  of  the 
play,"  continued  Lascurrettes.  "Then,  see  you,  we 
will  finish."  He  thrust  against  the  stump.  "Not 
yet,  eh?  More  chopping?  Behold  the  white  chips 
showering  like  the  white  blossom  on  the  grave  of 
M'sieu  The-Factor-That-Is-To-Be.  A  pretty  fancy." 


II 


WHEN  Gene  Lascurrettes  gave  out  his  intention 
of  building  on  the  pot-hole  lands,  Fort  a  la  Corne 
shrugged  its  shoulders  and  commented  according  to 
its  kind. 

"The  man's  daft!"  growled  the  Scotch  Factor. 

"He  is  one  fool,  this  Gene!"  chorussed  the  French 


A   SAGA    or    54° 

half-breeds.  They  liked  not  the  prospect  of  having 
Gene's  wife,  the  prettiest  woman  in  A  la  Corne,  re 
moved  from  the  sphere  of  their  observation. 

The  Cree  runners  expressed  their  surprise  in  harsh 
gutturals  eked  out  by  wealth  of  signs.  Few  men 
cared  to  trap  in  the  "scab  lands";  that  any  should 
wish  to  live  there  was  beyond  the  compass  of  the 
Cree  imagination.  But,  indifferent  to  criticism, 
Gene  continued  his  preparation. 

He  was  something  of  a  mystery  to  Fort  a  la 
Corne,  and  mysteries  it  hated.  Experience  had 
taught  it  that  those  things  which  cannot  be  com 
prehended  are  to  be  feared.  Therefore,  being 
incomprehensible,  Gene  was  disliked. 

The  coldest  day  of  the  preceding  winter,  when 
the  spirit  registered  sixty  and  odd  below  and  you 
could  hear  the  groan  of  a  sled  ten  miles,  a  team 
of  lathered  ponies  had  swept  through  the  Fort  gate. 
Poking  its  nose  carefully  out-of-doors,  A  la  Corne 
had  watched  a  sawed-off  giant  carry  a  half-frozen 
woman  into  the  Factor's  house.  And  such  a 
woman!  When  the  frozen  veil  was  thawed  from 
off  her  face,  the  Fort  forgot  its  manners  (inherited 
from  the  best  blood  of  France)  and  stared;  and  not 
until  she  quietly  turned  her  back  did  they  remember. 
It  was  Gene  and  his  wife.  When  they  inquired  of 

155 


THE   PROBATIONER 

his  journey  he  was  extremely  reticent,  answering  in 
general  terms. 

"He  had  come  from  the  north?" 

"He  had." 

"Far?" 

"Far." 

"Then,  it  was  somewhat  strange  that  a  man 
should  travel  in  the  heavy  frost?" 

"Was  it?" 

"  See  you,  sir,  the  ponies.  They  are  the  brothers 
of  the  little  team  of  Pete  Despard?" 

"Likely.." 

Long  after,  they  heard  that  he  had  traded  dogs 
for  ponies  at  Norquay's  road-house,  on  the  Great 
Slave  Trail. 

By  a  curious  stroke  of  fortune,  there  landed  in 
A  la  Corne,  the  next  day,  the  Commissioner  of 
Garry.  He  was  on  a  quest  for  ponies,  having  just 
killed  a  team.  He  came  face  to  face  with  Gene  in 
the  stable. 

No  one  else  was  around. 

"  Ph-ew !"  whistled  the  Commissioner.  "  I  thought 
you  were  beyond  the  Arctic  Circle." 

"I  am  at  A  la  Corne,  m'sieu." 

"So  I  see.     And  your  wife?" 

"She  also." 

156 


A   SAGA   OF   54° 

The  Commissioner  thought  awhile. 

"You  wish  to  stay?" 

"Why  not?    A  man  must  eat." 

"How  much  for  the  ponies?" 

"Two  hundred." 

"  I  take  'em.  Now  go  and  tell  the  Factor  to  put 
your  name  on  the  books.  But  say!"  Gene  stopped. 
"There's  a  man  looking  for  you  beyond  the  Great 
Bear  Lake." 

"He  will  not  find  me  there,  m'sieu." 

The  Commissioner  watched  him  crossing  the 
yard.  "If  that  man  gets  down  to  A  la  Corne,"  he 
muttered,  shaking  his  head,  "there'll  be  a  pretty 
fight.  I'd  like  to  see  it" — he  licked  his  lips  in  sin 
ful  anticipation — "  but  there'd  be  some  dead  men 
round.  And  dead  men,"  he  sighed,  "are  no  use  to 
the  Company.  Well,  we'll  get  something  out  of 
him  while  he's  here."  The  Commissioner  had  the 
knack  of  getting  things  out  of  men,  and,  if  there  was 
nothing  to  be  got,  he  packed  them  off  to  some  place 
where  killing  was  easy. 

When  Gene's  name  was  spread  on  the  book,  the 
Factor  wondered,  the  Crees  grunted  astonishment, 
and  the  breeds  lost  their  eyebrows  in  the  roots  of 
their  hair.  Then  they  remembered  his  wife,  and 
grinned.  Surely  the  Commissioner  had  been  look- 

157 


THE   PROBATIONER 

ing  at  himself  in  those  dark  eyes,  which  were  as 
deep,  black  pools  edged  with  willow.  But  presently 
they  had  other  cause  for  wonder.  Gene  drove  a 
nail  with  a  rifle-shot  at  fifty  yards,  he  tossed  the 
caber  farther  than  the  Factor,  broke  the  back  of  a 
Sioux  wrestler,  and  his  tongue  cut  like  a  two-edged 
sword.  There  was  at  first  great  talk  of  his  wife. 

"  She's  seen  sorrow,"  said  the  Factor's  wife.  "  An' 
I'm  doobtin'  if  she  gaes  much  on  her  man." 

"La  Petite!"  exclaimed  France  Dubois.  "Alas! 
To  be  married  to  one  bear."  Being  young  and  hot 
in  the  blood,  France  would  willingly  have  consoled 
the  mismated  woman.  For  a  while  he  followed  hard 
on  her  trail.  Then,  hearing  of  the  matter,  Gene 
pitched  him  over  the  Fort  wall  into  a  snowbank  and 
left  him  there  to  cool.  Which  he  did  quickly,  and 
returned  to  his  forest  loves. 

Though  very  much  in  the  minority,  the  women 
made  most  noise  at  the  news  of  the  moving.  The 
breeds'  wives  cluttered  together  like  a  flock  of 
angry  mallards,  but  it  fell  to  the  Factor's  woman  to 
voice  the  general  discontent. 

"  It's  carryin'  ye  till  that  beast  hole  'e'll  be,  is  it?" 
she  exclaimed,  kissing  Lois.  "We'll  see  aboot  it." 

First  she  tackled  the  Factor,  getting  no  satisfac 
tion;  then  she  cornered  Gene  in  the  store.  "  What  '11 

158 


A   SAGA    OF    54° 

be  the  meanin'  o'  this?"  she  demanded.  "  D'  ye  think 
to  tak'  the  puir  lassie,  an'  her  wi'  a  weak  heart,  till 
yon  desert  place  amang  birds  an'  beasts  an'  deils  an' 
Injuns?  Tak'  shame  till  ye!" 

She  paused,  winded.  Gene's  black  eye  wandered 
over  the  stout  figure.  "Madame,"  he  said,  bowing, 
"is  please  to  be  interest  in  the  matter?  Yes? 
Well,  if  she  will  know,  it  is  good  to  trap  on  the  bad 
lands.  Game  is  plenty.  Indians?  Bah!  They 
will  not  go  within  goose-flight  of  the  pot-holes. 
Madame  know  this.  The  devils,  is  it?  Yes,"  he 
mused,  "we  will  take  with  us  the  big  crucifix,  an' 
Father  Francis  shall  bless  the  cabin.  Then  again" 
— his  brows  shot  up,  and  a  wicked  smile  twinkled 
in  his  eye — "in  Quebec,  the  Lascurrettes  were  of 
importance.  Yes!  An'  the  associations  of  A  la 
Corne  are  scarcely — but  I  see  madame  understand. 
She,  perhaps,  has  visit  a  good  family."  Slipping  by, 
he  left  the  woman  paralyzed  with  indignation. 

"  Weel !"  she  gasped.  "  Did — you — ever?  Siccan 
an  impudence!  An'  me  once  housemaid  to  a  real 
laird!" 

In  early  springtime,  Gene  raised  a  cabin  of  spruce 
logs  on  the  bank  of  a  small  creek  hard  by  a  big  pot 
hole.  It  was  an  honest  day's  ride  from  the  Fort, 
which  fact  he  took  peculiar  pleasure  in  drawing  to 

159 


THE   PROBATIONER 

the  attention  of  the  Factor's  wife.  And  when  the 
ground  thawed  enough  to  permit  the  cutting  of 
roof-sod,  he  loaded  his  gear  on  a  huge-wheeled  Red 
River  cart,  and  creaked  over  the  prairie  and  through 
the  bush  to  his  own  place.  For  a  month  or  so  he 
and  Lois  labored  at  the  house,  chinking  and  plaster 
ing,  cutting  roof-poles  and  sod  to  cover  them;  there 
was  also  a  fireplace  to  build  and  a  door  to  make. 
But  this  done  and  the  last  shovelful  of  mud  plastered 
smoothly  on  the  walls,  time  began  to  drag  heavily 
on  Lois's  hands.  Gene  was  away  all  day,  tending  his 
traps  Or  hunting  among  the  pot-holes;  so,  sitting  by 
the  cabin  door,  hands  folded,  eyes  dreamily  fixed  on 
the  distant  bush,  she  thought  and  thought  and 
thought;  and  through  her  mind  slipped  fleeting 
shadows. 

Harking  back  to  her  childhood,  she  saw  dimly 
the  face  of  her  mother,  faintly  beautiful,  framed  in 
the  cloudy  past.  Then  uprose  the  log  mission  of  St. 
Ignace,  its  silvery  chime,  the  gentle  sisters,  and  the 
things  they  had  taught  her.  When  she  was  grown 
into  a  tall  girl,  some  things  she  learned  of  herself: 
chief  among  them,  that  in  the  hands  of  a  maid  a 
man  is  as  wax,  though  hard  as  steel  to  the  wedded 
woman. 

She  dwelt  tenderly  on  the  glory  of  her  first  love, 
160 


A   SAGA   OF   54° 

when  the  sun  shone  brighter  and  the  birds  sang 
sweeter  than  before.  But  with  this  was  linked  the 
memory  of  the  black  day  when,  by  order  of  the 
Company,  he  mounted  and  rode  away  to  Fort 
McCloud  against  the  Rockies.  Shortly  after,  she 
followed  her  father  the  length  of  the  Great  Slave 
Trail  to  Fort  Confidence,  beyond  the  Arctic  Circle. 
There  she  met  Gene  Lascurrettes.  That  was  a 
bitter  winter.  The  sun  abdicated  and  withdrew 
to  the  Southland,  leaving  the  North  to  the  cold  stars 
and  Aurora  Borealis.  And  the  Forest  King  blew 
on  her  with  his  icy  breath,  and  the  elements  seemed 
to  conspire  to  chill  the  warmth  at  her  heart,  and  the 
young  men  of  Fort  Confidence  wondered  at  her 
coldness.  The  next  summer  came  news  of  his 
death,  and  Lois's  sun  went  out.  He  was  killed,  in 
the  Rockies,  by  a  grizzly,  so  said  -Lascurrettes,  who 
himself  had  the  news  from  a  trapper  of  Fort  York, 
who  got  it  in  Garry.  Last  of  all,  she  thought  of  the 
mortal  sickness  of  old  Pierre  Mondot — how  he  be 
sought  her  to  marry  Gene,  who  stood  well  to  become 
a  factor  of  the  Company,  and  so  let  him  die  in 
peace. 

"Thou  art  beautiful,  child,  an'  need  a  strong 
husband!"  Those  were  his  words.  Then  he  told 
of  the  ruthlessness  of  men  when  handsome  women 

161 


THE   PROBATIONER 

were  in  question,  until,  half  frightened,  and  to 
please  him,  she  yielded.  Happy?  No!  She  had 
not  been  happy.  She  had  done  her  duty  in  a  me 
chanical  sort  of  way,  but  there  was  no  love  on  her 
side.  And  now  indifference  was  turning  to  dislike. 
Had  he  not  torn  her  from  her  friends  at  Confidence, 
and  hurried  her  through  frost  and  snow  and  ice  and 
shrieking  blizzard,  the  length  of  the  Great  North 
Trail?  Made  her  a  stranger  in  a  strange  land? 
And,  on  top  of  all,  isolated  her  in  this  barren  spot? 
Here  was  small  cause  of  love. 

She  sat  thus  one  afternoon  in  the  late  spring. 
It  was  the  time  of  flowers.  Harlot-like,  the  pot 
hole  lands  had  clothed  their  barrenness  with  robes  of 
spangled  green.  In  the  thick  grass,  brazen  tiger- 
lilies  flaunted  before  humble  ox-eye  daisies,  yellow 
buttercups  shouldered  Scotch  bluebells,  and  trem 
bling  golden-rod  bowed  over  seas  of  dandelion. 
Through  the  floral  ocean  nimble  gophers  chased  their 
loves.  A  dozen  prairie-cocks  strutted  on  a  knoll  be 
fore  the  hens,  a  quacking  mallard  steered  her  brood 
over  a  prairie  slough,  while  high  overhead  a  pair 
of  sand-hill  cranes  circled  up  in  the  eye  of  the 
sun. 

Gene  was  among  the  sand-hills  trying  for  a  shot 
at  a  sneaking  wolverine ;  yet,  far  down  the  Fort  trail, 

162 


A   SAGA    OF   54° 

the  girl  spied  a  black  spot  moving  over  the  prairie. 
It  grew  larger  and  larger,  presently  resolving  into 
the  figure  of  a  mounted  man. 

Suddenly  she  sprang  up,  hands  to  brow,  eyes 
strained.  "Mere  de  Dieu!"  she  whispered.  She 
sank  back,  white  and  trembling,  one  hand  pressed 
against  her  heart.  The  man  hobbled  his  pony  and 
stood  before  her.  He  was  tall,  heavy-jawed,  aquiline 
of  feature,  and  massively  handsome;  a  strong  man, 
earnest  in  good  or  evil. 

"'I  will  wait  for  thee,  Jehan  le  Bait/"  he  began, 
surveying  her  with  questioning  eyes,  "'  until  the 
everlasting  prairies  shrivel  in  the  fire  of  the  last  day/ 
These  were  the  words  of  Lois  Mondot.  These  were 
the  words  I  told  to  my  starved  heart  over  there" — 
he  waved  to  the  west — "at  Fort  McCloud  against 
the  Rockies.  Now  am  I  a  factor  of  the  Company  an' 
return  for  my  bride,  to  find — " 

Every  speck  of  color  had  vanished  from  her  face. 
Her  mouth  stood  open,  entreating  breath;  she  sway 
ed,  recovered,  then  fell  forward.  He  caught  her, 
and  pulled  a  flask  from  his  pocket. 

"Drink!"  he  commanded. 

"It — it — is  over!"  she  gasped. 

"Drink!"  He  spoke  with  authority.  The  spirit 
sent  the  blood  flushing  to  her  cheek.  "You  are 

163 


THE    PROBATIONER 

better?"  She  nodded.  "An'  when  I  come  to 
Garry/7  he  continued,  doggedly,  "I  find — " 

"Stop,  Jehan!"  She  held  up  a  staying  hand. 
"You  know  I  love — loved  you.  But  they  tell  me, 
my  father  an'  Gene,  that  you  are  dead — killed  by 
a  bear.  Mere  de  Dieu!"  she  wailed.  "  How  wretch 
ed  I  am!  I  do  not  care.  'Marry/  say  my  father, 
an' — an' — I  did."  She  hung  her  head. 

"  For  this  he— " 

"Ah,  no,  Jehan!"  she  anticipated.  "For  then 
would  there  be  blood  between  us.  It  must  not  be. 
No,  Jehan,  no!" 

"Then  you  will — "  He  drew  her  close,  whisper 
ing.  She  shook  her  head,  repeating  again  and  again 
a  faint  "No,  Jehan";  but,  indifferent  to  yea  or  nay, 
he  talked  on,  rapidly,  authoritatively,  laying  his 
plan.  The  strong  will  prevailed.  Soon  she  ceased, 
and  nestled  in,  warm  flushes  chasing  one  another 
over  her  face  and  neck. 

"To-morrow,"  she  answered  to  a  question,  "he 
goes  to  the  Fort,  an'  will  not  be  back  till  midnight. 
But  oh,  Jehan,  Father  Francis?" 

"  Bah !  little  one !  The  fat  priest,  is  it  ?  The  good 
father  know  that  love  is  greater  than  law,  an'  he 
has  a  fine  eye  for  a  pretty  maid.  See  you,  there  will 
be  absolution  when  we  are  old  and  gray!" 

164 


A   SAGA   OF   54° 

She  smiled,  and  nestled  closer.  The  afternoon 
slipped  by  and  the  flickering  shadows  moved  round 
a  quarter-circle  while  they  were  still  in  talk.  Sud 
denly  the  girl  sprang  from  his  arms;  a  passing  cloud 
had  obscured  the  sun,  bringing  on  the  evening 
twilight. 

"Go,  dear!"  she  exclaimed.  "It  is  near  sun 
down!  He  will  soon  be  here!" 

"Then,"  he  said,  kissing  her  on  the  mouth,  "to 
morrow,  little  one!  Before  moonrise.  It  is  a  long 
trail,  the  Fort  McCloud,  but  love  lies  by  the  way  an' 
happiness  at  the  end." 

She  followed  him  among  the  pot-holes  with  her 
eyes  and  down  the  trail  to  the  distant  bush,  and 
while  she  was  still  gazing,  Gene  turned  the  corner. 
He  leaned  his  rifle  against  the  wall. 

"This  devil-beast,"  he  growled,  throwing  down 
the  wolverine,  "will  no  more  rob  the  traps.  An' 
this  was  a  fine  shot.  By  the  Christ!  Yes.  Two 
hund —  What  is  that?"  His  eye  had  caught  the 
moving  speck. 

"I  know  not,"  she  faltered.  "This  half-hour 
have  I  watched  it,  wishing  for  thy  coming.  Just 
now  I  had  another  stroke  of  the  heart.  One  more 
such  an'  I  am  done." 

"  Pouf ! "    He  laid  a  caressing  hand  on  her  shoulder. 

165 


THE   PROBATIONER 

"What  foolish  talk  is  this?  No  Cree  would  venture 
among  the  pot-holes.  Afraid?  Of  a  stray  pony? 
See  you,  I  will  mount  an'  bring  it  to  thee,  an'  we 
shall  have  the  great  laugh." 

"No!  No!"  she  exclaimed,  shrinking  from  his 
hand.  "Do  not  leave  me.  An'  you  are  hungry? 
It  was  wrong  of  me  to  be  afraid  an'  neglect  the 
meal." 

After  he  had  eaten  she  moved  outdoors.  He 
lay  on  their  bed,  smoking  and  telling,  between 
puffs,  of  a  silver  fox  he  had  tracked  in  the  sand 
hills.  Fifty  dollars  was  its  hide  worth  at  A  la 
Come!  Of  this  she  should  have  ten,  to  buy  her  a 
dress  fit  for  a  queen.  She  should  have  brave  gear, 
yes,  as  became  a  pretty  woman,  wife  to  a  good 
hunter.  Thus  he  rambled  on.  She  answered  in 
monosyllables.  Twice  he  called  her  to  come  to 
bed,  but  not  until  he  slept  did  she  enter  the  cabin. 

She  was  up  betimes,  and  fried  the  breakfast 
bannock  while  Gene  hitched  his  pony  to  the  cart. 
After  he  was  gone  she  hearkened  to  the  huge  wheels 
creaking  over  the  prairie  and  drew  a  long,  full 
breath.  Just  as  he  turned  into  the  bush  the  night- 
wind  sank  to  rest,  the  air  chilled,  and  the  sky 
blacks  paled  to  dullest  drab.  Trembling  flushes  of 
red  and  yellow  shot  through  the  grays  of  dawn. 
'166 


A   SAGA   OF   54° 

Easily  the  drabs  faded  into  the  blue  of  the  zenith, 
the  yellows  deepened  and  blushed  into  rosy  reds, 
while  fleecy  clouds  drew  dusky  lines  across  the 
eastern  sky.  As  the  sun  raised  a  golden  rim,  a 
robin  perched  on  the  roof-tree  and  piped  his  melo 
dious  note.  Blackbirds  in  a  near-by  bluff  broke  into 
liquid  music,  a  snipe  chirped  a  cheerful  pee-wee 
from  a  slough,  and  a  pair  of  jays  quarrelled  in  the 
]oy  of  the  morning.  The  hush,  the  glow,  the 
throaty  music  of  the  birds,  the  infinite  peace  and 
freshness  of  the  new-born  day,  filled  her  starved 
soul.  Kneeling,  like  some  fire -worshipper  of  old, 
she  watched  the  great  red  sun  lift  and  roll  up  his 
burnished  plane. 

All  day  she  burned  with  a  fever  of  impatience. 
Time  and  again,  though  she  knew  he  would. not 
come  till  night,  her  gaze  travelled  down  the  trail  to 
the  distant  bush.  Once,  on  turning  from  the  door, 
her  eyes  fell  on  the  crucifix  against  the  wall.  She 
shrank  back.  The  Church  had  no  blessing  for  an 
enterprise  like  hers;  and,  beneath  Christ's  cross, 
Gene  had  nailed  a  colored  mission  print  of  the 
"broad  and  easy  way"  leading  down  to  Tophet. 
Towards  evening  the  excitement  brought  on  an 
other  palpitation  of  the  heart,  which  left  her,  blanch 
ed  and  trembling,  on  the  bed.  At  last  the  unwel- 

167 


THE   PROBATIONER 

come  sun  dropped  below  the  horizon.  Rising,  she 
lit  an  oil  fire,  and  by  its  light  got  ready  for  the 
trail.  She  had  but  little  gear.  Her  few  things 
were  soon  rolled  into  a  small  bundle;  then,  throwing 
a  shawl  about  her,  she  sat  shivering  with  expecta 
tion.  With  dusk  came  the  thud  of  a  horse's  hoofs. 
A  hasty  foot  stumbled  on  the  threshold. 

"Jehan!" 

She  threw  wide  the  door,  and  the  yellow  flare 
shone  full  on  her  husband's  face.  With  a  choking 
cry  she  fell  at  his  feet.  He  stepped  within.  He 
had  heard  the  name;  her  bundle  lay  on  the  floor. 

"So,  so/'  he  whispered,  gently,  "it  was  to  be  the 
rider  of  the  stray  pony,  was  it?"  The  tone  was 
quiet,  but  the  veins  on  his  forehead  ridged  black, 
the  skin  drew  tight  over  his  heavy  jaw,  and  his 
hand  played  with  his  knife.  " Rise!"  he  roared,  with 
sudden  passion.  "Rise  an'  speak!"  He  struck  his 
heel  heavily  into  her  side.  "The  stray  pony!"  he 
laughed.  "That  was  not  to  be  caught!  The  heavy 
pony!  Whose  hoofs  bit  deep  in  the  soft  places!" 

She  lay  still.  A  minute  passed.  She  had  not 
yet  moved.  Stooping,  he  turned  up  her  face.  It 
was  marble-white.  Falling  on  his  knees,  he  tore 
her  dress  from  the  neck  and  laid  his  rough  head  to 
the  white  breast. 

168 


A   SAGA   OF   54° 

Night  fell  as  Jehan  le  Bait  spurred  from  the  bush. 
He  was  late.  A  led  horse  had  persistently  taken 
the  wrong  side  of  many  trees,  wherefore  Jehan 
swore  softly  but  with  eloquence  and  variety. 

"0  son  of  the  devil!"  he  muttered,  "may  you 
burn  in  one  thousand  hells!  This  is  your  fault. 
Black  night  an'  a  new  trail."  Dismounting,  he 
followed  the  faint  white  line  of  dead  grass  around 
yawning  pits  and  between  bottomless  earth-cracks, 
while  his  anxious  eye  scanned  a  distant  light.  Half 
an  hour's  fast  walking  brought  him  to  the  big  pot 
hole,  and  here  he  tied  the  horses  at  a  poplar  bluff. 

The  oil  flare  cast  a  broad  stream  of  light  through 
the  cabin  door,  punching  a  yellow  hole  in  the  black 
ness.  "Ho,  petite!"  he  called.  "Here  am  I!" 
The  steep  sides  of  the  pot-holes  threw  back  a 
hollow  echo.  All  was  strangely  silent.  A  sudden 
fear  chilled  him.  High  overhead,  with  rush  of 
beating  wings,  a  shape  swept  by. 

He  started.  "Bah!"  he  exclaimed.  "Jehan  le 
Bait,  you  are  become  as  one  chicken.  Ma  foi!  To 
jump  at  a  passing  goose!" 

Standing  on  the  threshold,  he  laughed  softly. 
"La  pauvre,"  he  whispered.  "So?  She  is  tired, 
an' sleeps.  Good!  She  will  travel  the  better." 

She  lay  on  the  rude  bed,  the  torn  dress  revealing 

169 


THE   PROBATIONER 

the  ivory  bust  gleaming  round  and  full  in  the  yellow 
flare.  Love  and  passion  surged  with  the  hot  blood 
through  his  veins.  Quietly  tiptoeing,  he  stooped 
and  kissed  her  full  on  the  mouth.  Instantly  he 
straightened.  Her  lips  were  icy  cold. 

"M'sieu  salutes  his  love!" 

Jehan  whirled  about.  In  the  doorway,  broad 
body  touching  either  post,  stood  Lascurrettes.  He 
was  smiling;  his  hand  played  gently  with  his  knife. 

"  You— did—  this —thing  ?' ' 

The  man  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "It  was  not 
my  fortune,  m'sieu.  The  good  God  avenges  the 
outraged  husband.  So  say  the  holy  fathers.  She 
died  of  a  stroke  of  the  heart." 

"Of  a  broken  heart!" 

"As  you  please.  What  matter?  She  is  dead. 
An'  you,  M'sieu  The-Factor-That-Is-To-Be,  pay  for 
her  death.  But  not  now.  Presently.  There  is 
work  to  do." 

Taking  axe  and  shovel,  Gene  led  the  way  to  the 
bluff  where  the  horses  were  tied.  The  moon  had 
just  peeked  over  the  trees;  the  black  darkness  had 
withdrawn  to  the  pits. 

"Here  is  a  good  place."  Lascurrettes  buried  the 
axe  in  the  sod.  "Soon  there  will  be  more  light." 

They  worked  by  spells,  preserving  the  silence  of 
170 


A   SAGA    or   54° 

good  haters,  one  picking  and  the  other  shovelling. 
After  an  hour's  digging,  Gene  looked  down  on  the 
grave.  "It  will  do,"  he  said. 

At  the  door  Jehan  le  Bait  drew  to  one  side. 
"M'sieu  will  wish  to  make  his  adieus?" 

He  waited  patiently.  No  need  for  hurry,  though 
the  northern  moon  silvered  plain  and  forest,  and  he 
could  see  the  faint  white  trail  winding  over  a  mile 
of  prairie.  Yet,  time  and  again  he  caught  himself 
thinking  of  Lois  as  waiting,  waiting,  waiting ;  waiting 
to  start  on  the  long  journey  which  ended  at  Fort 
McCloud.  i 

"It  is  her  spirit/'  he  whispered. 

"M'sieu?"  Lascurrettes  stood  by  the  open  door. 
He  entered,  closed  the  door,  and  knelt  by  the  dead. 
Raising  the  small  hand,  he  placed  it  on  his  head. 
Softly,  like  a  caress,  it  settled  among  his  curls, 
quieting,  with  cool  touch,  the  pain  at  his  heart. 
He  arose  soothed  and  calm,  and  called  the  husband. 

"M'sieu,"  he  said,  "this  was  good,  an'  I  would 
repay  in  kind.  As  I  hope  to  presently  kill  you,  I 
swear  she  was  innocent  of  wrong.  Her  heart  was 
always  mine.  This  you  knew  when  you  lied  away 
her  body." 

Lascurrettes's  lips  drew  into  a  wicked  snarl. 
"Innocent!"  he  growled.  "This  is  the  talk  of  a 

171 


THE   PROBATIONER 

boy.     Does  the  hand  hold  from  the  ripe  fruit  when 
the  belly  says  pluck?    This  will  not  save  you." 

In  her  blankets  they  buried  Lois,  shovelling  by 
turns  until  the  grave  was  filled  and  mounded. 
When  the  last  sod  was  turned,  they  stood  for  a 
space  with  bowed  heads;  then,  retiring  a  few  yards,, 
they  faced  together. 

•  Between  the  grave  and  the  pot-hole  stretched  a 
level  sward.  Over  this  they  began  to  circle,  back 
ward,  forward,  sidewise,  tricking  for  an  opening, 
knives  scintillating  sparks  of  blue  moonlight. 

Suddenly  Jehan  let  drive  a  circular  cut  from 
face  to  waist.  It  fell  short.  The  return  flashed 
straight  at  his  breast,  and  Lascurrettes  drove  in 
thrust  upon  thrust,  bearing  him  back  towards  the 
pot-hole.  A  quick  side-leap  reversed  the  position, 
and  Jehan  slashed  at  the  side,  and  missed.  Steel 
sawed  steel.  The  knives  flashed  in  and  out  for  a 
breathless  minute,  weaving  a  fiery  pattern;  then, 
bleeding,  they  drew  apart  and  circled. 

The  next  rush  brought  them  together,  free  hand 
to  knife  hand,  and  Jehan  felt  the  power  of  his  foe. 
Slowly  he  was  forced  back  to  the  pit.  He  felt  the 
knife  hand  tearing  from  his  grip,  while  the  grasp 
tightened  on  his  wrist.  He  must  do  something, 
and  do  it  quick. 

172 


A   SAGA   OF   54° 

"Courage!"  the  voice  of  Lascurrettes  sounded 
in  his  ear;  "it  will  soon  be  over,  an'  m'sieu  in 
hell." 

Raising  his  knee,  Jehan  jammed  it  with  desperate 
energy  into  the  other's  stomach,  at  the  same  time 
throwing  back.  The  grapple  broke.  He  fell,  head 
and  shoulders  over  the  pit.  For  one  moment  he 
hung  in  the  balance,  then  Lascurrettes's  knife 
flashed  straight  at  his  face.  He  saw  it  coming, 
dodged,  overbalanced,  clutched  at  the  grass,  and 
toppled  back. 

Lascurrettes  crawled  to  the  edge  and  looked  down. 
He  could  see  nothing,  but  presently  a  groaning  curse 
ascended  to  him  through  the  blackness.  Jehan  had 
fallen  in  the  loose  sand.  Quietly  withdrawing,  he 
walked  to  the  grave  and  lay  down  to  chew  the 
bitter  cud  of  sorrow  and  thwarted  purpose. 

He  was  the  child  of  iron  forces  and  rigorous  condi 
tions;  the  last  link  of  a  chain  every  length  of  which 
was  hot-forged  by  nature  and  chosen  from  a  thou 
sand.  Strong,  obstinate,  acute,  he  had  shouldered 
through  life,  bending  man  and  woman  to  his  will. 
But  his  wife's  weakness  had  proved  her  strength. 
She  was  gone  beyond  recall.  To  be  robbed  of  his 
love! — even  by  death?  Springing  up,  he  shook  a 
threatening  fist  skyward,  and  cursed  the  power 

173 


THE    PROBATIONER 

which  had  levelled  him  in  the  dust.  He  waited,  al 
most  expectant.  The  stars  looked  coldly  down,  the 
moon  shed  her  pale  light  as  before,  the  murmuring 
night-wind  plucked  a  dead  leaf  and  cast  it  in  his  hot 
face.  The  mote  in  the  sunbeam  had  defied  the 
infinite  and  received  its  answer. 

Smarting  under  a  vague  sense  of  futility  and 
failure,  he  turned  his  gaze  to  the  black  pot-hole. 
"Peste!"  he  muttered,  "this  is  fool  work,  this 
challenging  the  stars,  but  over  there" — he  shook  his 
big  fist — "  is  one  that  shall  pay." 

For  two  days  he  kept  secret  watch  and  ward, 
awaiting  the  torment  of  thirst  and  hunger.  But  on 
the  second  day  he  observed  the  prisoner  cutting  his 
mooseskin  coat  into  strips,  and  saw  him  twist  them 
into  a  long  lasso.  When  it  was  ready  for  the 
cast,  he  crawled  to  the  stump  and  waited.  For 
a  night  and  day  he  feasted  fat,  then,  glutted, 
turned  to  destroy  the  last  hope  of  the  doomed 
man, 

"See  you,"  he  called  below,  "how  great  is  my 
solicitude.  Presently  the  tree  will  fall,  an'  I  would 
not  spoil  a  factor  of  the  Company.  Stand  from 
under !"  The  stump  cracked.  "  Now,"  he  laughed, 
raising  for  the  last  blow,  "  to  hell  with  you,  Jehan 
le  Bait!" 

174 


A   SAGA   OF   54° 

Unseen,  noiseless,  the  lasso  shot  up  from  below, 
hovered,  curved  over,  and  fell  around  his  shoulders. 
He  grasped  the  tottering  tree.  It  cracked  smartly, 
toppled  over,  and  man  and  stump  crashed  into  the 
yawning  pit. 


THE    BLACK    FACTOR 


THE    BLACK    FACTOR 


w 


'HEN  you  have  snatched  your  canoe  from  the 
grip  of  Assiniboine,  labored  across  the  Prairie 
Portage,  paddled  a  long  week  on  Manitoba,  and 
sweated  over  the  divide  to  Winnipegoos,  you  shall, 
if  your  muscle  be  good  for  another  week's  paddling, 
come  to  the  Big  Portage  of  Cedar  Lake. 

Two  days  thereafter,  sore,  stiff,  and  with  the 
appetite  of  a  starved  grizzly,  you  arrive — that  is, 
if  your  inner  works  are  copper  lined  and  proof  from 
alkali  —  at  Devil's  Drum,  a  little  corner  of  the 
frozen  North  which  has  sent  many  a  peltry  to  swell 
the  store  of  the  Great  Company.  Then,  when  your 
camp-fire  flickers  in  the  woods  and  the  night-owl 
solemnly  bells  the  frogs  to  vespers,  a  trapper  will 
probably  lounge  over  from  the  fort  to  sample  your 
tobacco  and  hear  the  news. 

If  the  tobacco  be  good,  the  spirit  may  move  him 
to  speak  of  the  building  of  Devil's  Drum  and  of  the 
notable  circumstances  attendant  thereon,  but  unless 

179 


THE    PROBATIONER 

you  have  whiskey  you  will  not  hear  the  story  of  the 
Black  Factor,  nor  will  you  be  allowed  a  peep  into 
the  great  book  of  the  Company  wherein  it  is  written. 

I  had.  Thus  it  was  that  I  came  to  read  the  story 
which  Pere  du  Fre  wrote  in  the  log  of  Devil's 
Drum — the  great  book  which  lies  on  the  top  shelf  of 
the  old  log  store,  and  which  none  but  a  commissioner 
may  open.  And  just  as  I  read,  it  is  here  set  down, 
save  that  I  thought  it  better  to  omit  some  moraliz- 
ings  upon  the  duty  of  man  with  which  the  father 
interspersed  his  narrative. 

"The  spring  that  Fraser  came  in  from  the  west," 
he  begins,  "we  of  Garry  were  in  straits.  Not  con 
tent  with  infringing  on  our  charter,  the  Nor'west 
Company  had  set  itself  to  ruin  our  trade;  to  which 
devilish  end  they  had  burned  a  Company's  post 
and  killed  its  factor.  Their  half-breeds,  too,  under 
the  command  of  one  De  Knyff ,  harried  our  packers 
upon  the  trails  and  carried  off  their '  furs.  And 
while  it  is  true  we  repaid  these  violations  of  the  laws 
of  God  and  man  in  kind,  yet  the  season's  pack  was 
light  and  his  Excellency  the  Governor  both  sour  and 
sulky.  His  state  of  mind  may  be  imagined  when  I 
say  that  for  three  months  he  went  unconfessed. 

"'Furs  we  must  have,  father,'  he  said,  when  I 
called  one  morning  intent  on  reproving  him  for  his 

180 


THE   BLACK  FACTOR 

lack  of  duty.    'Furs  we  must  have,  if  I  go  uncon- 
fessed  to  the  day  of  judgment!' 

"'Son!'  I  protested.  But  he  heard  me  not,  and 
fell  to  biting  his  nails  and  pulled  his  beard  ragged, 
while  his  brow  drew  in  heavy  lines. 

"'Yes/  he  continued,  talking  to  himself;  'we 
must  carry  the  war  into  their  country — build  a  post 
north  of  the  Big  Lakes,  and  hold  it,  if  we  have  to 
install  the  devil  as  factor  and  sink  the  Nor 'westers 
in  the  bottom  hole  of  hell!' 

"  Hard  words,  but  the  man  was  sore  beset.  '  Oh, 
where  shall  I  get  a  man?'  he  cried,  dropping  his 
head,  and  as  though  in  answer  a  half-breed  runner 
arrived  with  news  that  Fraser  was  in  the  fort. 

" '  The  very  man !'  exclaimed  the  Governor.  '  Send 
him  here.' 

"While  waiting,  his  Excellency  leaned  head  on 
hand,  his  eyes  fixed  upon  his  papers.  I  studied 
him.  And  once,  looking  quickly  up,  he  caught  my 
glance  and  read  the  thought  therein,  for  he  answered 
at  once: 

"'Yes,  he  will  get  himself  killed,  but  what  would 
you,  father?  It  is  the  way  of  the  Company.  We 
must  have  furs.' 

"'Men/  I  answered,  'are  of  more  importance  in 
the  sight  of  God  than  furs.' 

181 


THP:    PROBATIONER 

"'In  the  sight  of  God,  yes/  he  rejoined,  smiling; 
'but  in  the  eyes  of  the  Company,  no,  father.'  And 
before  I  could  rebuke  him  Fraser  strode  through 
the  open  door. 

"At  this  time  he  must  have  been  full  two-and- 
thirty,  though  the  man  was  a  mystery  and  none 
knew  aught  of  his  parentage.  He  came  into  the 
Company's  service  from  the  west,  bringing  with  him 
some  score  of  silent  Sioux,  whose  discreet  tongues 
revealed  nothing  of  his  antecedents.  All  questions 
they  answered  with  a  wag  of  the  head.  But  this 
much  we  guessed :  his  name  betokened  a  Scots  father, 
and  none  but  a  French  mother  could  have  lit  the 
fire  in  his  eyes.  Of  his  appearance,  it  needs  only 
to  know  that  he  stooped  to  enter  the  door,  while 
his  shoulders  brushed  on  either  jamb.  Tall,  strong, 
swart — swart  as  his  own  Sioux,  and,  if  report  spoke 
truly,  twice  as  crafty — I  see  him  now  even  as  he 
stood  that  day  before  the  Governor. 

111  Fraser/  his  Excellency  began,  'we're  in  a  mess. 
We've  got  to  do  something,  d'  ye  hear? — something 
big — and  you're  the  man  to  do  it.  I  was  thinking 
of  tapping  the  country  north  of  Winnipegoos.  It's 
risky — '  Here  a  raise  of  the  Factor's  black  brows 
brought  him  to  a  pause.  'All  right/  he  continued, 
smiling.  '  We'll  leave  the  risk  and  come  to  business. 

182 


THE   BLACK   FACTOR 

If  you  build  a  fort  on  the  Moose  River,  I'll — I'll 
make  you  Commissioner  of  Rupert's  Land/ 

"On  the  third  day  following  this  conversation — 
I  mind  it  well,  for  that  morning  I  celebrated  the 
Easter  mass  —  two  ten -men  canoes  rounded  the 
bend  into  the  Assiniboine,  after  which,  for  weary 
months,  we  lacked  news  of  Fraser.  And  just  about 
the  time  I  had  given  him  up,  there  came,  early  one 
morning,  a  thundering  rap  upon  my  door.  Without 
stood  the  Governor,  in  most  excellent  mood. 

"'Good -day,  father,'  he  greeted.  'This  is  an 
unseasonable  call,  but  I  bear  good  news.  This  day 
I  take  boat  for  a  voyage  of  inspection  to  our  new 
fort  of  Devil's  Drum,  and,  if  you  care  to  come  along, 
I  doubt  not  Black  Jack  will  give  you  welcome.  It 
is  long  since  he  shrived  him,  and  the  tale  must  be 
both  long  and  bloody.' 

"  As  it  becomes  a  priest  to  be  ever  zealous  for  the 
cure  of  souls,  I  accepted  the  invitation,  though  not 
relishing  it  overmuch.  Had  I  known — well,  it  has 
been  wisely  ordained  that  we  see  not  the  perils  that 
beset  our  path.  Yet  we  fared  well  enough  on  the 
journey,  and  came,  after  two  weeks'  toilsome 
travelling,  in  by  night  to  Devil's  Drum. 

"'Hey!'  chuckled  the  Governor,  when  at  moon- 
rise  we  thundered  at  the  water-gate.  'Black  Jack 

183 


THE   PROBATIONER 

seems  well  in  train  for  the  commissionership,  eh, 
father?  Was  there  ever  a  finer  bit  of  building?' 

"Like  some  lithe  beast,  the  fort  crouched  in  the 
crotch  of  Moose  River  and  Cedar  Lake.  Across  the 
landward  side  ran  a  log  stockade,  with  ditch  and 
counterscarp,  while  on  the  double  water-front  a 
palisade  jutted  into  lake  and  river.  These,  draw 
ing  to  a  point,  gave  the  couchant  beast  a  tail,  and 
provided  a  water-yard  wherein  a  score  of  canoes 
could  safely  ride.  For  a  quarter-mile  beyond  the 
barrier,  too,  the  timber  was  cut  and  burned,  and 
within  the  enclosure  Black  Jack  had  built  stores, 
fur-houses,  and  quarters  for  his  men.  With  such 
confidence  did  the  fort  inspire  me  that  I  made  a  vow 
right  then  that  the  Governor  should  lack  the  com 
pany  of  a  certain  churchman  on  his  backward 
trip. 

"'Can't  make  out  how  you  did  it,  Fraser!'  the 
Governor  exclaimed,  when,  next  morning,  he  com 
pleted  his  inspection.  '  Surely  the  devil  must  have 
helped  you?' 

"'Sir,'  I  interposed,  'God  was  with  Mr.  Fraser!' 

"With  a  twinkling  eye  he  asked  pardon  for  his 
levity,  and  added,  somewhat  irreverently,  that  he 
had  forgotten  the  alliance  betwixt  the  Company 
and  the  Almighty,  and  then  turned  to  question 

184 


THE   BLACK   FACTOR 

Fraser.  He  was  ever  a  quiet  man  and  gave  us  little 
information,  yet  this  much  we  learned: 

"Silent  as  death's  shadow,  he  had  stolen  through 
the  land,  and  of  those  who  crossed  his  trail  none 
lived  to  tell.  They  died  quickly  and  without  noise. 
And  long  before  wind  of  him  travelled  to  the  Nor'- 
westers  in  their  fort  of  Devil's  Point,  his  outer 
defences  were  strongly  built.  Nor  were  they 
finished  one  whit  too  soon.  From  Devil's  Point  a 
messenger  sped  north  as  far  as  fifty-five,  and  raised 
Cree,  Obijay,  and  Swampy  River  Sioux  to  drive 
him  from  the  land.  In  the  third  week  of  his  oc 
cupation,  the  smoke  of  many  fires  mingled  with  the 
reek  of  the  burned  clearing;  at  night  the  sky  blushed 
red  above  their  camp;  the  still  night  air  pulsed  to 
the  throbbing  war-drum. 

"' Wherefore/  said  Black  Jack,  'we  called  this 
Devil's  Drum/ 

" '  As  you  please,  father/  said  his  Excellency,  when 
I  asked  permission  to  remain  and  establish  a  mission. 
'As  you  please.  But  'ware  that  you  heal  not  their 
souls  until  Fraser  has  broken  their  bodies.  Seeing 
that  you're  not  to  be  of  us,  we  will,  as  we  came  in 
by  night,  go  out  by  day/ 

"  Which  he  did.  And  while  the  Crees  chased  him 
down  the  lake,  the  Governor  sat  in  the  gtern,  potting 

185 


THE   PROBATIONER 

them  like  so  many  rabbits.  All  morning  we  heard 
the  crack  of  his  rifle.  From  the  tower  by  the  gate  I 
watched  his  canoe  grow  smaller  and  smaller,  until  it 
drew  to  a  speck  and  vanished,  carrying  him  with  it 
from  this  story. 

"For  the  bigger  half  of  a  month  after  the  de 
parture  of  the  Governor  death  stalked  in  picturesque 
guise  about  our  walls. 

"I  began  to  despair  of  my  mission,  and  was  be 
ginning  to  regret  not  having  journeyed  with  the 
Governor,  when  one  of  our  scouts  brought  news 
of  trouble  in  the  Indian  camp. 

"When  the  man  came  in  I  was  with  the  Factor 
in  the  big  log  store,  as  yet  empty  of  goods;  and  after 
he  had  delivered  him  of  his  news  Fraser  said  noth 
ing,  but  sat  thinking.  Just  as  I  was  about  to  put 
a  question — for  the  Sioux  had  spoken  in  his  own 
tongue — he  struck  his  knee,  roaring  with  sudden 
laughter,  and  cried  out: 

"'Send  Neepawa  here!' 

"'What  is  it?'  I  asked. 

"'That  remains  to  be  seen/  he  answered,  drum 
ming  on  his  knee ;  and  this  was  all  the  satisfaction  I 
could  get.  But  I  knew  some  desperate  game  must 
be  afoot,  else  had  he  not  called  for  the  chief  of  his 
Sioux. 

186 


THE    BLACK   FACTOR 

"He  came — a  tall  man,  brown,  lean,  lank,  pos 
sessed  of  the  strength  of  three,  yet  lithe  as  a  lynx 
and  twice  as  cruel.  Taking  him  to  one  side,  the 
Factor  whispered  in  his  ear,  and  while  he  talked 
the  Sioux  nodded  to  every  word.  What  they  said  I 
could  not  hear,  but,  despite  this  lack  of  confidence, 
which  reflected  somewhat  on  my  strength  of  wit — 
a  wit  which  his  Excellency  the  Governor  has  found 
useful  on  occasion — at  the  end  of  their  conference  I 
approached  and  said: 

"'Son,  I  judge  there  is  deadly  work  ahead.  Let 
me  exercise  my  office/ 

"Whereat  he  laughed  down  from  his  great 
height  and  answered:  'At  present,  father,  there 
is  no  need;  but  if  that  which  I  contemplate 
comes  to  a  head,  then  shall  I  require  your  ser 
vices/ 

"That  night  I  slept  ill,  and  at  break  of  day  I 
turned  out  to  cool  my  fever  in  the  morning  mist. 
And  as  I  stepped  from  my  quarters  the  watch  hailed 
loudly.  Through  the  gray  of  the  clearing  two 
spectral  figures  loomed,  each  bearing  upon  its 
shoulders  a  heavy  burden. 

"'What  is  it?'  I  inquired. 

"But  the  sentry  shook  his  head,  cocked  his 
musket,  and  hailed  again.  A  swirl  of  mist  swept 
13  187 


THE   PROBATIONER 

in  between,  and  from  its  centre  the  voice  of  the 
Factor  answered. 

"'Where  have  you  been?'  I  demanded,  as  he 
strode  through  the  gate. 

" '  Seeking  a  wife  after  the  manner  of  the  tribe  of 
Benjamin!'  he  answered,  with  a  laugh. 

"Wherewith  he  set  down  his  burden  and  un 
wound  a  blanket  from  the  head  of  as  fine  a  woman 
as  ever  filled  the  eye  of  man.  Half-breed  she  was 
at  the  first  glance,  yet  never  have  I  seen  girl  more 
winning  in  a  tender  way.  Though  tall,  her  round, 
full  shape  moulded  her  dress  in  easy  lines,  her  eyes 
were  lit  with  the  sweet  languor  which  makes  men's 
hearts  as  water,  her  loosened  hair  veiled  her  in 
night's  black  splendor.  'And  this,'  continued  the 
Factor,  pointing  to  Neepawa's  burden,  'is  Saas, 
daughter  of  Clear  Sky,  chief  of  the  Swampy 
Sioux.' 

"Then  the  plot  came  out.  Saas  had  made 
trouble  in  the  Indian  camp.  On  the  north  side  of 
her  father's  tepee,  Estahagan,  headman  of  the 
Obijay,  had  raised  a  pile  of  goods  against  her  hand, 
while  on  the  south  Iz-le-roy,  chief  of  the  Crees,  had 
stacked  his  store  of  wealth.  Day  by  day  the  piles 
had  grown — for  Saas  was  a  famous  curer  of  skins — 
and  just  when  the  pile  of  Iz-le-roy  was  the  greater 

188 


THE   BLACK   FACTOR 

by  full  three  packs  of  beaver,  our  scout  brought  in 
the  news. 

"  This  it  was  that  sent  the  Factor  forth  by  night. 
In  the  willow  thicket  behind  Clear  Sky's  tepee,  he 
and  the  Sioux  crouched,  waiting  until  Saas  should 
go  and  draw  water  from  the  woodland  spring.  And 
presently — just  as  the  scout  said — she  came  out 
with  her  skin  buckets  and  paused,  unconscious  of 
their  eager  eyes.  Within  the  camp  a  hundred  fires 
glowed  with  a  strong  red  light,  leaping  and  dancing 
like  fire  blossoms  in  a  wind,  but  it  was  yet  dark  by 
the  spring,  and  Saas  was  afraid.  She  made  to  go 
back,  and  dashed  the  watchers'  hope,  then  paused 
and  filled  them  with  joy.  She  talked  with  some  one 
within  the  tepee,  then  out  into  the  firelight  came  the 
half-breed  girl. 

"'So/  concluded  the  Factor,  softly  caressing  the 
girl's  hair,  '  these  two  came  together  to  the  spring/ 
She  shrank  from  his  touch,  but  even  this  seemed 
rather  to  please  him,  for  he  added :  '  Modest  ?  Well, 
so  be  it!  It  is  a  grace  that  will  become  the  wife  of 
the  Commissioner  of  Rupert's  Land — eh,  father?' 
And  with  that  he  placed  her  under  my  care  and  in 
the  cabin  next  to  mine  until  such  time  as  he  should 
finish  the  business  of  the  Indians. 

"Things  fell  out  pretty  much  as  the  Factor 
189 


THE   PROBATIONER 

thought  they  would.  Within  the  hour  Clear  Sky 
himself  strode  into  the  clearing  and  stood,  making 
the  peace  sign.  He  was  an  old  man,  gnarled  and 
rugged,  but  when  they  brought  him  to  Fraser  he 
straightened  with  the  swing  of  a  young  pine. 

"'Yes,'  said  the  Factor,  when  the  old  man  had 
made  oration;  'we've  got  your  daughter.'  And  a 
wave  of  his  hand  brought  her  from  a  near-by  hut. 

"  The  old  man's  eyes  glistened  —  doubtless  the 
piles  before  his  tepee  seemed  a  little  nearer  for  her 
presence.  But,  as  it  chanced,  all  that  morning  the 
lean,  brown  chief  of  our  Sioux  had  been  making  the 
best  of  his  opportunity  with  Saas,  and  now  she  in 
continently  gave  her  father  her  back. 

"'But  the  warm  blankets,  0  Saas!'  he  gasped. 
'The  warm  blankets,  the  knives,  and  the  great 
packs  of  winter  beaver  that  stand  before  my  tepee! 
What  of  these?' 

"But  as  these  were  matters  of  another's  house 
keeping,  Saas  remained  unmoved.  And  here  the 
Factor  stepped  in.  He  explained  that  we  of  the 
Company  were  peaceable  men  and  friends  of  the 
Swampy  Sioux.  All  that  we  asked  was  leave  to 
barter  peacefully  for  furs,  for  which  we  would  pay 
the  highest  price.  And  whereas  the  Nor'westers  of 
Devil's  Point  gave  but  one  fathom  of  tobacco  for 

190 


THE   BLACK   FACTOR 

seven  white  winter  beaver,  we  would  give  two. 
Of  powder,  the  Sioux  should  receive  two  pounds  for 
five  beaver — good  powder,  measured  with  thumb 
without  the  brim.  And  that  Clear  Sky  might  lose 
nothing  by  the  maiden,  out  of  the  Company's  store 
he  should  receive  tea,  tobacco,  and  blankets  that 
would  double  in  value  those  of  Estahagan.  This 
ended  the  talk.  Clear  Sky  returned  to  his  people 
with  instructions  to  make  cause  with  the  Crees 
against  the  Obijay,  and  then  to  join  with  us  of 
Devil's  Drum  in  driving  out  the  Crees. 

"And  by  the  time  the  sun  marked  high  noon  we 
knew  that  he  was  carrying  out  the  plan.  From  the 
watch-tower  by  the  gate  Fraser  watched  the  ebb 
and  flow  of  fight,  and  I,  standing  beneath,  heard 
him  growl : 

"'Go  it,  dogs!  Eat  one  another,  but  save  a  meal 
for  me/ 

"That  meal  he  got — a  full  one.  Towards  sun 
down,  just  before  the  Obijays  fled  across  the  river, 
he  took  up  his  position.  And  when  the  Crees  re 
turned  they  were  caught  betwixt  him  and  the 
Swampy  Sioux.  Like  cornered  rats  they  fought. 
But  so  hard  were  they  stricken  that  out  of  a  hun 
dred  fighting  men  but  twenty  straggled  back  to 
Amisk,  north  of  fifty-four. 

191 


THE   PROBATIONER 

"' We  must  give  them  no  rest,  father!'  said  the 
Factor,  when  he  returned  at  moonrise.  So,  leaving 
six  men  with  me  to  keep  the  fort,  he  took  two  days' 
meat,  and,  while  Clear  Sky  drove  hard  on  the  trail 
of  the  broken  Obijay,  he  chased  the  Crees  to  the 
heart  of  the  Pasquia  Hills. 

"After  he  was  gone,  I  remembered  the  girl — 
that  she  had  not  yet  eaten — and,  taking  a  lantern 
and  food,  I  entered  her  cabin.  She  rose  on  my 
entrance,  and  stood  with  heaving  bosom,  her  eyes 
saucerfuls  of  fear — a  fair,  frightened  picture  framed 
in  yellow  light.  She  was  pale,  too,  and  tear-stained. 
And  as  I  looked,  I  wondered — wondered  that  so  fair 
a  flower  should  spring  and  blossom  in  the  dirt  of  an 
Indian  camp. 

"' Tears,  my  child?'  I  began,  intending  to  cheer 
her.  'What  folly!  Surely  you  are  better  here, 
among  people  of  your  blood.  Besides,'  I  added, 
with  a  touch  of  archness, '  the  Factor  is  in  love,  and 
what  better  could  a  girl  wish  than  to  marry  with  a 
good,  strong  man?' 

"While  I  was  speaking  her  eyes  grew  dark  as 
midnight  pools.  'No,  no!'  she  whispered,  stretch 
ing  a  long,  white  arm  towards  me.  'No!  Already 
I  am  a  wife!' 

"As  the  word  left  her  lips,  the  fear  in  her  eyes 

192 


THE   BLACK   FACTOR 

passed  to  mine,  and  I  trembled — for  her.  As  yet 
Fraser  had  proved  singularly  indifferent  to  the 
charms  of  womankind,  but  for  this  very  reason  I 
knew  that,  with  his  love  once  cast,  he  would  burst 
every  tie  that  held  him  from  his  desire.  Could  it 
be?  Was  the  woman  really  bound?  For  a  mo 
ment  the  doubt  shook  me;  then,  remembering 
whence  she  came,  I  chided  myself  and  answered : 

"' Nonsense,  daughter!  Some  passing  fancy, 
mayhap.  Some  tie  of  the  kind  the  Church  knows 
naught  of.' 

"'Ah,  no/  she  protested,  with  a  quick  intake  of 
the  breath.  fl  am  wife  to  Rafe  de  Knyff.' 

"'Rafe  de  KnyftT  I  echoed.    'Then  you  are— ' 

"'Virginie  La  France!' 

"It  hardly  required  her  assertion  to  assure  me 
of  her  truth,  for  Father  Umfreville — a  good  man, 
though  strangely  blinded  to  the  rights  of  our  Com 
pany — had  married  them  at  Fort  William.  And 
now  I  remembered  that  when,  according  to  our  cus 
tom,  he  had  forwarded  a  copy  of  the  register,  I  had 
fancied  he  expatiated  somewhat  warmly  on  the 
beauty  of  the  bride. 

"'And  where  is  Rafe  de  Knyff?'  I  queried. 

"'Gone  to  Devil's  Point,  to  report  to  Le  Brun, 
the  Factor,'  she  answered.  Then,  folding  her  hands, 
193 


THE   PROBATIONER 

she  broke  out  in  uncontrollable  sorrow:  ' To-mor 
row  he  will  be  back  and  find  me  gone!  Oh,  what 
shall  I  do?  What  shatt  I  do?' 

"  For  what  followed  I  have  been  taken  to  task  by 
many,  some  good  men,  some  bad,  but  all  agreed 
that  it  is  right  and  proper  to  harry  a  Nor 'wester,  to 
drive  him  from  the  land,  to  reive  him  of  his  cattle, 
or  to  carry  off  his  wife.  Yet,  looking  backward,  the 
wisdom  of  later  years  approves  the  course  I  took. 
Gently  touching  the  child's  hair,  I  said: 

"' Courage,  daughter!  No  harm  shall  come  to 
you  or  him.  I  myself  will  meet  him.' 

"  And  this  I  did,  finding  him  a  tall  fellow,  nearly 
the  height  of  Fraser,  but  lacking  his  bulk.  His 
countenance  was  frank,  yet  grave.  He  carried  the 
air  of  one  used  to  command.  A  good  man,  too,  I 
judged  by  his  conversation,  though  holding  most 
heterodox  opinions  anent  our  rights.  Still,  he 
came  with  me  most  amicably,  and  in  the  pitch  of 
night  I  got  him  into  the  fort  unseen. 

"Next  day  we  held  a  consultation.  'Will  I  join 
with  your  people?'  he  answered  to  my  suggestion 
that  herein  lay  the  settlement  of  the  difficulty. 
'No!  Nor  will  I  ever  acknowledge  their  authority 
to  trade  upon  these  lands!' 

"Not  one  whit  would  he  swerve  from  this,  so  but 

194 


THE   BLACK   FACTOR 

one  thing  remained — to  let  them  escape.  To  this 
end,  therefore,  I  secretly  provisioned  the  smaller 
of  our  two  canoes,  and  at  dusk  loosed  the  water- 
gate.  Night  fell  thick  a.s  ink,  and  after  the  evening 
meal  I  stepped  outside  and  found  all  quiet.  A 
single  ray  shone  from  the  men's  quarters.,  stabbing 
the  blackness  like  a  sword  of  light.  Over  in  the 
forest  the  night  wind  mourned;  a  breeze  rippled  the 
lake  along  the  shore;  I  could  hear  the  river  hungrily 
licking  its  bank.  Opening  the  door  of  my  cabin, 
I  called  De  Knyff  and  whispered: 

111  Go  you  to  the  water!    I  will  bring  your  wife.' 
"Silent  as  a  shadow  he  stole  away,  the  while  I 
held  my  breath,  listening.     Once  I  thought  a  stone 
rolled,  but  it  was  not  from  his  foot,  and  the  watch 
man  by  the  gate  gave  no  sound.   After  he  was  safely 
gone,  I  crept  back  to  his  wife.    She  was  ready. 
"'Come,  child/  I  said;  'your  husband  waits/ 
"But  her  face  paled  with  sudden  horror,   she 
gasped  and  staggered  back,  all  trembling,  her  eyes 
staring  past  me.     Whirling  about,  I  came  face  to 
face  with  Fraser  in  the  door. 

"'Ye-es?'  he  said,  smiling  in  my  eyes.  'It  was 
well  that  I  pushed  on.'  He  spoke  like  one  explain 
ing  matters  to  himself.  '  I  thought  to  play  a  trick 
on  the  guard,  but  this — this  goes  beyond  expecta- 

195 


THE   PROBATIONER 

tion.  And  now,  M'sieu  lePere,'  he  growled,  flush 
ing  blackly  under  his  skin,  '  where,  oh,  where  is  the 
happy  husband?7 

"He  was  angry,  but  his  eyes  wandered  keenly, 
searehingly,  from  me  to  Virginie,  and  from  her  to 
me.  Outwardly  he  was  calm,  cool,  rigid,  but  it  was 
the  rigidity  of  the  lava  crust,  beneath  which  surges 
the  molten  rock.  And  as  I  stood  speechless,  think 
ing  what  I  should  say,  I  came  to  know  how  quick 
is  the  wit  of  a  loving  woman.  Like  a  flash  she  an 
swered  : 

"'A  day's  sail  down  the  lake,  where  even  the 
Black  Factor  dare  not  seek  him!' 

"'Sot'  he  queried,  quietly  enough,  but  in  a  tone 
that  reddened  her  face  and  neck  with  the  scarlet 
flush  of  shame.  'So?'  For  what  seemed  a  long 
time  his  eyes  drank  of  her  glowing  beauty,  then  he 
turned  on  me  with  an  eloquent  shrug. 

"'It  seems,  father,'  he  said,  'that  your  services 
are  not  for  us,  and,  let  me  remind  you,  this  is  the 
hour  which  good  priests  spend  in  prayer.' 

"'My  son!'  I  entreated.     'My  son!' 

"But  he  laughed  once  more  in  my  face,  an  ugly 
laugh,  and  advanced  towards  me.  Now,  it  has 
pleased  the  Almighty  to  make  me  a  man  small  of 
body  and  meek  of  spirit,  yet  it  comforts  me  to  know 

196 


THE   BLACK   FACTOR 

that  in  this  hour  of  trial  I  found  courage  to  perform 
my  office.  Stepping  forward,  I  placed  hands  on  his 
giant  chest  and  thrust  him  back.  He  staggered — 
not  from  my  force,  but  from  its  suddenness.  His 
eyes  reflected  the  hues  of  hell.  His  knotty  fist  rose 
and  hovered,  then,  quickly  changing  his  intent,  he 
lifted  me  like  a  fractious  child  and  dropped  me 
outside  the  door. 

"As  it  banged  to  I  could  have  wept,  wept  tears 
of  fire,  and  in  my  fierce  anger  I  forgot  the  husband 
— forgot  him  till  the  sound  of  a  pleading  voice 
brought  me  to.  Then  I  ran  and  plumped  into  his 
arms,  for  he  was  coming  to  find  what  kept  us. 

"'Go!'  I  gasped,  choking. 

"There  was  no  need  for  more.  He  stiffened, 
every  muscle  tense,  and  shot  away.  The  door 
creaked,  a  panel  of  yellow  light  winked  at  the  black 
ness — he  was  inside.  I  tiptoed,  listening,  and  from 
the  thick  air  my  straining  ears  picked  a  dull  vibra 
tion,  a  heavy,  stifled  thudding.  It  endured,  per 
haps,  for  the  space  of  a  score  of  breaths,  for  the 
little  time  it  took  for  me  to  gain  the  door,  and  as  I 
laid  hand  to  the  bobbin  there  came  a  heavy  fall, 
and  then — silence. 

"I  pulled  and  entered.  The  Nor'wester  was  on 
his  knees.  A  heavy  bruise  crossed  his  forehead, 

197 


THE   PROBATIONER 

one  hand  pressed  his  side,  his  breath  came  in  painful 
gasps.  And  beside  him  stood  Virginie  La  France, 
a  hatchet  in  her  hand.  At  her  feet,  vacant-eyed, 
but  still  heavily  frowning,  lay  the  Factor.  Under 
his  head  a  black  patch  widened,  widened  and  crept 
out — out  to  join  the  drop  that  fell  from  her  blade. 
Over  all  the  sickly  lantern  cast  its  yellow  flare. 

" '  Father !'  she  whispered.     <  Father !' 

"Stooping,  I  laid  my  hand  to  Fraser's  breast.  I 
felt  no  beat;  and  as  I  realized  that  this  man  of  mighty 
parts  was  stricken  in  his  sin,  anger  faded,  and 
from  its  ashes  welled  a  gush  of  pity.  But  there  was 
much  to  do.  Rising,  I  stepped  out  and  peered 
around  the  corner.  All  was  still.  In  the  men's 
quarters  the  light  still  shone,  the  sentry  held  his 
lonely  watch.  It  seemed  that  the  thick  spruce  logs 
had  kept  their  secret,  but,  to  make  sure,  I  sauntered 
across  the  yard  and  saluted  him  as  carelessly  as  I 
might. 

"'Bezhou  !"  he  answered. 

"'You  hear  anything?'  I  asked. 

"'Cowene/  he  grunted. 

"On  my  return,  the  Nor' wester  would  have  it 
that  I  should  go  with  them,  holding  that  if  the  Sioux 
but  dreamed  I'd  a  hand  in  the  killing  of  the  Factor  no 
torture  would  suffice  them.  But  I  refused,  telling 

198 


THE   BLACK   FACTOR 

him  that  I  would  hold  the  post  against  the  coming 
of  his  Excellency  the  Governor,  and,  though  Virginie 
joined  her  prayers  to  his,  I  would  not  be  persuaded. 
Yet  as  there  was  reason  in  the  argument,  I  got  their 
help  to  make  disposal  of  the  body.  It  would  be  an 
easy  matter.  Outside  the  river  called,  called  with 
gentle  but  insistent  voice;  it  would  clasp  him  loving 
ly  to  its  bosom  and  bear  him  out  to  the  deep  wa 
ters  where  a  man  may  rest  in  peace.  So  between 
us  we  carried  him  to  the  brink,  and  as  the  icy 
flood  licked  him  off  our  hands,  De  Knyff  whis 
pered  : 

"' There  goes  a  man  both  strong  an'  brave!' 
"'May  God  rest  him!'  I  answered.    While  the 
murmuring  river,  the  mournful  wind,  and  the  sigh 
ing  forest  softly  breathed  his  requiem,  the  Black 
Factor  passed  onward  to  the  lake. 

"  But  time  was  passing  and  moonrise  drawing  on. 
Far  down  the  lake  a  milky  glow  already  touched  the 
sullen  waters.  The  dead  was  gone  to  his  place,  and 
there  was  need  for  hurry  lest  others  follow.  So, 
getting  back  to  the  cabin,  we  cleansed  the  floor  of 
blood,  and  set  things  in  such  order  that  it  would  ap 
pear  Virginie  had  escaped  by  the'  window.  For  an 
hour  we  thus  labored,  then,  after  a  last  glance  round, 
I  closed  and  barred  the  door.  In  the  east  the  dark- 

199 


THE   PROBATIONER 

blue  sky  was  laced  with  silver,  the  moon  just  peeked 
above  the  forest. 

"'Hurry!'  whispered  De  Knyff,  and  with  the 
word  some  one  stumbled. 

"'Softly!'  I  breathed. 

"  A  loud  laugh  answered,  and  I  paused,  consumed 
with  wonder  at  his  folly.  Again  the  laugh  rang 
out,  sharp,  clear,  like  that  of  a  mocking  devil.  The 
Nor' wester  was  close  by  my  side;  it  was  not  he. 
We  drew  together,  astonished,  waiting  in  horrible 
expectancy.  And  of  a  sudden  a  blaze  of  powder 
flashed  and  set  fire  to  the  beacon  of  dried  grass  and 
reed  which  lay  by  the  landing  ready  for  occasion. 
Under  its  fiery  glance  the  dark  shore-waters  blushed 
blood-red,  a  myriad  yellow  tongues  danced  in  the 
ripple,  and  the  palisade,  canoes,  and  open  water- 
gate  stood  as  in  the  light  of  day.  And  there  in  the 
beacon's  glare,  surrounded  by  his  Sioux,  stood  the 
Factor. 

"From  his  hair  and  clothes  water  dripped.  He 
was  smiling,  but  the  smile  lacked  mirth,  and  when 
he  spoke  it  was  in  bitter  irony.  '  A  well-considered 
plot,'  he  said,  'but  lacking  one  thing — the  villain 
yet  survives/ 

"Afterwards  I  found  that  when  the  woman 
struck,  the  axe  glanced,  inflicting  a  flesh  wound, 

200 


THE   BLACK   FACTOR 

and  then  fell  flat  on  the  great  nerve  ganglion  at  the 
base  of  the  brain.  Thus,  completely  paralyzed,  with 
respiration  suspended  and  heart  action  enfeebled 
to  the  point  of  stopping,  Fraser  had  lain  until  the 
icy  flood  shocked  him  back  to  life. 

"'So/  he  continued,  'it  was  to  be  a  merry  trip 
across  the  lake  while  the  Black  Factor  slept  soundly 
to  the  music  of  the  paddles?' 

"We  made  no  answer.  The  Nor' wester  stood 
sullen  and  defiant,  his  arm  about  his  wife;  she  leaned 
forward  like  one  fascinated,  silent,  breathless,  her 
red  lips  slightly  parted.  As  for  myself,  I  was  sorely 
puzzled,  for  I  saw  something  strange  in  Fraser's  face 
— a  dawning  resolve. 

" '  You  would  journey  down  the  lake?'  he  persisted. 
'Then— you  shall!' 

"At  a  wave  of  his  hand,  the  Sioux  guard  swept 
the  Nor'wester  from  his  feet  and  lifted  him  on 
high.  Virginie  screamed.  She  thought  they  were 
about  to  cast  him  in  the  lake,  and  so,  for  the  mo 
ment,  did  I.  But  before  I  could  open  my  mouth, 
Fraser  pointed  to  the  canoe  and  ordered  sharply : 

"'Set  him  in!'  Then,  turning  to  the  wife,  the 
Factor  added,  in  tones  that  were  strangely  com 
pounded  of  tenderness  and  anger :  'You  also!  And 
now/  he  finished,  when  she  was  safely  in,  'go!' 

201 


THE   PROBATIONER 

"Though  astonished  beyond  measure,  De  Knyff 
spent  no  time  in  staring.  At  the  word  his  paddle 
cut  the  water,  and  down  the  trail  of  fire,  with  ever- 
quickening  speed,  the  canoe  sped  to  the  water-gate. 
When  it  had  covered  half  the  distance,  a  change 
flashed  in  the  Factor's  face.  His  hand  gripped  the 
prow  of  the  second  canoe,  and  he  stood,  hesitant,  as 
though  minded  to  follow.  I  saw  the  knuckles  of 
his  great  hand  gleam  white  through  the  skin,  a 
shiver  shook  his  frame,  and  then — he  raised  a  sudden 
foot  and  stove  in  the  birch-bark  bottom. 

"The  Nor'wester's  back  was  on  us,  but  Virginie 
saw  the  play.  As  the  canoe  floated  through  the 
water-gate,  just  before  the  darkness  quenched  the 
star-fire  of  her  eyes,  they  rested — as  I  live,  they 
rested  on  Fraser  with  an  expression  of  regret.  And 
he  read  their  message. 

"'By  the  mass!'  he  said,  laying  a  kind  hand  upon 
my  shoulder.  'It  is  well,  father,  we  have  not  a 
third  canoe. '" 


AN   ILIAD    OF   THE   SNOWS 


AN    ILIAD    OF    THE    SNOWS 


""T/'ES,  he  was  a  hard  man,  an'  stout — this  Com- 
JL  missioner,"  continued  Red  Brischaux,  with 
some  irritation.  "  But  what  should  a  fat  Easterling 
know  of  stout  men  ?"  He  viciously  poked  our  camp- 
fire,  and  sent  the  red  sparks  flying  up  to  the  black 
sky.  He  had  just  finished  a  yarn  of  old  Commission 
er  M' Garry,  and  took  this  method  of  signifying  his 
displeasure  with  my  lack  of  reverence  for  the 
power  that  rules  the  North. 

"He  seems/'  I  answered,  soothingly,  "to  have 
been  a  great  man,  Brischaux."  I  should  not  have 
thus  lightly  passed  over  the  reflection  on  my  birth 
and  girth  had  it  not  lacked  four  hours  of  midnight 
and  a  hundred  thousand  wolves  been  howling  round 
our  camp.  A  dozen,  says  Red  Brischaux;  but  this 
one  might  expect  from  a  man  so  utterly  devoid  of 
imagination.  They  made  noise  enough  for  a  million. 
You  see,  we  had  just  stricken  a  great  kill.  From 

205 


THE   PROBATIONER 

the  crotch  of  a  black  poplar  swung  the  carcass  of  a 
moose,  and  the  blood  hung  heavy  on  the  air. 

"Yes,"  I  agreed,  by  way  of  provoking  him  to 
another  story,  "  he  was,  as  you  say,  a  great  man,  and 
always  carried  his  point." 

"One  man  there  was — "  he  began,  hesitatingly. 

"That  defied  him?    No!"  said  I,  warmly. 

"Though  in  the  end  the  Commissioner  had  his 
way,"  he  went  on.  "Thus  it  was." 

Snuggling  in  my  blankets,  I  watched  the  sparks 
fly  upward  and  smoked  a  pipe  while  Red  Brischaux 
sang  his  Iliad  of  the  Snows.  Just  as  he  gave  it  by 
the  flickering  camp-fire  it  is  here  set  down;  but  as 
Red  Brischaux  is  warm  of  blood — as  evidenced  by 
his  remarks  anent  my  girth  —  and  loves  strong 
language,  I  have  thought  better  to  translate  in 
politer  speech. 

If  Roche  Brule,  Factor  of  A  la  Corne,  had  wished 
to  select  the  most  exasperating  season  to  hurl  de 
fiance  at  the  Commissioner,  he  could  not  have  chosen 
better.  A  February  thaw  had  smashed  the  winter 
trails,  Assiniboine  had  burst  her  icy  bonds,  and  five 
hundred  packs  of  fur  that  ought  to  have  gone  down 
stream  with  the  flood  waters  were  dumped  on  a 
hundred  trails.  The  Commissioner,  a  dour  man 

206 


AN   ILIAD   OF   THE   SNOWS 

at  the  best  of  times,  was  become  as  touchy  as  a 
wounded  grizzly;  and  packers,  clerks,  and  full- 
fledged  factors  of  the  Company  stepped  lightly 
round  the  great  log  store  wherein  he  sat. 

A  month  before,  Donald  Fraser  had  trailed  to 
A  la  Corne  to  freight  down  the  season's  catch.  With 
him  he  carried  news  of  the  approaching  marriage  of 
Jeanne  Dumont,  a  ward  of  the  Commissioner.  Now, 
as  the  luck  would  have  it,  for  many  a  long  year 
Brule  had  kept  this  girl  in  mind.  He  had  seen  her 
blossom  from  a  long  slip  of  a  girl  into  a  strong 
and  healthy  woman.  As  the  gardener  watches 
the  bloom  gathering  on  his  choicest  peach,  so  he  had 
pleasured  in  her  ripening;  and  now  the  fruit  was 
ready,  and  an  alien  hand  reached  to  pluck  it.  She 
was  to  marry  Paul  M'Garry,  a  beefy  Scotchman, 
nephew  to  the  Commissioner — a  man  he  sore  dis 
liked. 

Brule  listened  quietly  to  the  Scotchman's  tattle, 
answering  nothing  to  his  jocular  comment;  then, 
when  he  had  all  the  news,  he  took  his  gun  and  got 
from  the  fort,  to  think  it  out  alone.  All  that  day 
they  heard  his  rifle  talking.  Fox,  rabbit,  prairie- 
chicken,  coyote — anything  that  ran  on  legs  or  flew 
with  wings  he  shot,  and  left  lying  in  the  snow.  He 
was  in  the  mood  that  hurls  the  she-bear  at  the 

207 


THE   PROBATIONER 

slayer  of  her  young,  but  by  sundown  his  passion 
calmed.  He  returned  to  the  fort  quiet  and  ap 
parently  resigned.  But  the  following  day  he  hur 
ried  south  with  a  couple  of  his  men;  and  a  week 
after,  in  the  thick  of  night,  he  snatched  the  girl 
from  the  Big  Grass  Post. 

Now,  Paul  M' Garry  was  not  lacking  in  physical 
courage,  but  Brule  had  got  a  good  night's  start,  and 
he  was  an  ill  man  to  beard  in  his  own  den.  Paul 
flew  to  the  Commissioner  with  the  tale  of  his  wrongs. 
But  when,  ten  days  therefrom,  a  special  courier  rode 
into  A  la  Corne  and  demanded  the  girl  of  his  hands, 
Brule  laughed  in  his  face. 

"My  compliments  to  m'sieu  the  Commissioner," 
he  said,  stretching  his  great  body  to  his  full  height, 
"an'  tell  him  if  he  wants  Jeanne  Dumont  to  come 
and  get  her."  Then  he  strode  off  across  the  yard, 
a  towering  figure,  to  make  his  visit  to  the  pris 
oner. 

She  rose  on  his  entrance.  She  had  been  crying, 
but  at  sight  of  him  her  eyes  snapped.  A  bewilder- 
ingly  small  foot,  daintily  moccasined,  impatiently 
tapped  the  ground,  and  the  hot  blood  flushed  her 
cheeks. 

"Still  inconsolable?"  he  queried,  with  a  lift  of  the 
brows.  "An'  tears?  This  is  foolish.  But  see, 

208 


AN    ILIAD    OF   THE    SNOWS 

the  suspense  will  soon  be  over.  I  have  sent  for  a 
priest." 

"Brute!"  She  flared  up  in  sudden  wrath,  then, 
conscious  of  the  smile  in  his  eyes,  dropped  her  own. 
It  was  very  annoying.  He  was  positively  admiring 
her  passion.  "Oh,"  she  groaned,  in  impatient 
anger,  "wait  till  the  Commissioner  lays  hands  on 
you!  He  will  hang  you  in  the  gates  of  A  la  Corne." 

"Ye-es?"  he  queried,  cheerfully.  "But  this  will 
be  long  years  after  we  marry,  petite.  None  too  big 
a  price  for  so  much  bliss." 

"I  will  never  marry — you!" 

"No?"  The  smile  still  hung  about  the  corners  of 
his  mouth,  but  it  seemed  rather  to  ?dd  to  the 
sudden  sternness  of  his  face.  He  stepped  forward 
and  bent  to  the  level  of  her  eyes.  "Well,"  he  said, 
slowly,  "in  this  you — please  yourself.  But  most 
women  prefer — the — sacrament." 

A  quick  challenge  passed  from  eye  to  eye.  A 
hasty  answer  trembled  on  her  lips,  but  there  it  froze, 
for  in  his  glance  she  read  iron  fixity  of  purpose. 
For  a  dozen  breaths  she  endured  his  gaze,  defiantly 
answering  back;  then,  suddenly  realizing  her  weak 
ness,  broke.  In  her  throat  rose  choking  sobs,  her 
bosom  heaved,  she  sank  by  the  table  and  burst  into 
a  rain  of  tears.  Brule  looked  down  on  her,  and  his 

209 


THE    PROBATIONER 

glance  softened.  His  hand  lightly  swept  her  hair, 
but  without  another  word  he  stepped  outside  and 
quietly  closed  the  door. 

Long  after  he  was  gone  Jeanne  sobbed  like  a 
grieved  child,  yet  in  the  flood-tide  of  her  grief  she 
was  dimly  conscious  of  the  peculiar  nature  of  her 
feelings.  Light  as  had  been  the  touch  of  his  hand, 
she  sensed  it.  She  felt  like  a  child  that  has  first 
been  scolded,  then  caressed;  and  she  was  angry  be 
cause  she  felt  so. 

"I  hate  him!"  she  exclaimed,  springing  up  and 
walking  to  and  fro.  "Yes,  I  hate  him!" 

She  stamped  her  foot,  then  blushed  to  find  herself 
emphasizing  such  an  obvious  fact.  She  hated 
Brule — she  was  sure  of  that.  But  deep  down  where 
the  springs  of  consciousness  have  their  being  a 
secret  doubt  was  shaking  her  faith  in  her  love  for 
Paul.  Bit  by  bit  the  history  of  her  passion  pieced 
itself  together,  and  the  more  she  thought,  the  more 
obtrusive  became  the  unwelcome  feeling. 

When  the  courier  landed  in  Portage  la  Prairie  with 
Brule's  answer,  the  Commissioner  was  like  to  have 
a  fit.  By  gathering  together  Red  River  carts, 
wagons,  buckboards,  and  everything  that  ran  on 
wheels,  the  furs  had  been  gotten  to  the  water;  but 

210 


AN   ILIAD   OF   THE   SNOWS 

his  success  seemed  rather  to  have  increased  than 
diminished  the  Commissioner's  ire.  His  nephew 
Paul,  a  tall  fellow,  strong,  bony,  and  of  a  somewhat 
sulky  countenance,  was  closeted  with  him  when  the 
courier  arrived. 

"What?"  roared  the  Commissioner.  "He  re 
fuses  to  give  her  up?" 

"If  m'sieu  pleases,"  replied  the  breed,  politely. 

"You're  a  fool!"  bellowed  the  Commissioner. 

The  man  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Is  one  re 
sponsible  for  the  errors  of  one's  parents?"  he  re 
torted. 

"Why  didn't  you  take  her  from  him?"  snapped 
Paul. 

"Ah,  yes,  why?"  The  courier  slightly  raised 
his  brows.  "Does  m'sieu  the  nephew  of  the  Com 
missioner  ask  this?" 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  implication.  Paul 
flushed  with  anger  and  strode  forward  with  raised 
fist.  "None  of  your  insolence!"  he  shouted. 

A  black  shade  crept  over  the  breed's  dark  face. 
His  hand  slipped  to  his  knife,  and  he  crouched  with 
the  quick,  nervous  movement  of  a  cat.  Paul 
stopped.  "If  m'sieu  will  have  the  reason,"  the 
man  purred,  "perhaps  it  was  because  one  would 
rather  see  M'm'selle  Jeanne  wedded  to  a — man!" 

211 


THE   PROBATIONER 

"Shut  up,  Paul!"  testily  interrupted  the  Com 
missioner.  "What  do  you  mean,  Dupre?  Drop 
that  knife!" 

Unwillingly  the  man's  hand  fell.  "There  are 
some  things,"  he  muttered,  "that  one  would  not 
take  from  the  Commissioner,  much  less  this — "  His 
voice  died  to  a  whisper,  but  Paul  caught  the  word 
and  turned  uncomfortably  to  the  window. 

The  Commissioner  bowed  his  shaggy  head  and 
thrummed  on  the  desk.  " '  Come  and  get  her  my 
self  '  ?"  he  mused.  "  Daughter  of  my  old  friend,  too. 
By  thunder,"  he  roared,  suddenly  banging  the  desk, 
"I'll  smoke  this  wolf  from  his  hole  and  hang  him 
high  as  Haman!" 

"An'  this  will  be  a  pretty  hanging,"  mildly  sug 
gested  the  courier.  "But  one  would  advise  hurry, 
lest  the  girl  be  left  a  widow." 

Forty  miles  to  the  west  of  A  la  Corne,  in  the  heart- 
of  the  Ragged  Lands,  stands  a  ruined  cabin.  It 
is  no  longer  habitable,  for  none  but  desperate  men 
would  care  to  dwell  there;  but  in  the  days  when  the 
Commissioner  was  trailing  northward  it  sheltered 
Jeanne  Dumont.  At  its  best,  it  was  but  a  rude 
hut  of  unhewn  spruce  logs,  plastered  with  mud  and 
roofed  with  poplar  poles,  sod,  and  clay;  but  when 

212 


AN   ILIAD   OF   THE   SNOWS 

Jeanne  kept  it,  Brule  lined  the  walls  with  warm 
blankets,  hides,  and  the  choicest  of  his  furs. 

In  the  last  days  of  March,  when  the  Commissioner 
was  still  a  day  to  the  south  of  A  la  Corne,  he  brought 
her  to  this  cabin.  Next  day,  and  still  the  next,  a 
blizzard  swept  over  the  land;  but  on  the  morning 
of  the  third  day  the  sun  shone  suddenly  out,  the 
wind  veered  to  the  south,  and  the  new-fallen  snow 
vanished  quicker  than  it  came. 

Brule  threw  wide  the  door.  "The  morning  is 
fine,  m'm'selle,"  he  said,  "and  here  you  may  have 
more  liberty.  You  are  free  to  come  and  go,  but 
I  would  advise  care.  Remember,  these  are  the 
Ragged  Lands." 

He  was  perfectly  safe  in  allowing  her  this  free 
dom.  All  about  stretched  a  wilderness  of  crag  and 
lake  and  slough.  Quaking  muskegs  and  treacher 
ous  morasses  clutched  at  ignorant  feet,  bleak  sand 
hills  upreared  among  gaping  earth-cracks  that  of 
fered  a  speedy  passage  to  the  bowels  of  Eld,  and 
wild  beasts  wandered  among  sudden  pits  which 
peppered  the  scant  prairie.  Then,  too,  evil  spirits 
— the  souls  of  hapless  wanderers — were  said  to  flit 
through  the  wastes;  and  somewhere  in  the  desolate 
environs  gaped  a  great  hole  which  sucked  all  that 
came  within  its  radius  down,  down,  to  lakes  of 

213 


THE   PROBATIONER 

everlasting  fire.    A  timid  girl  was  not  likely  to 
wander  far. 

After  that  first  clash  of  wills  Brule  treated  her 
with  kindness  and  respect.  His  passion  was  strong, 
to  be  sure,  but  a  man's  strength  held  it  in.  He 
wanted  no  light  love — such  were  plenty  in  the  forest 
— but  a  wife,  a  proper  mother  for  his  children. 
He  never  intruded  on  her  privacy.  When  darkness 
fell  he  pitched  a  fly  of  bull's  hide  against  the  wall 
and  lay  athwart  the  door.  Often,  waking  in  the 
pitch  of  night,  she  heard  his  heavy  breathing;  and 
once  she  stole  across  the  floor  and  looked  curiously 
on  the  great  figure  lying  so  still  in  the  red  fire's 
glow. 

But  with  all  this  deference  he  was  deaf  to  all 
appeals  to  take  her  home.  Sighs,  prayers,  coaxings, 
failed  to  touch  him;  and  when  from  a  burst  of 
passion  she  passed  to  a  flood  of  tears,  he  looked 
on  quiet  and  unmoved.  This  she  quickly  realized, 
and  his  iron  firmness  wore  down  her  spirit.  She 
became  quieter  and  ceased  to  complain.  Some 
times  of  nights,  when  the  fire  blazed  before  the  door, 
he  sang,  and  she  discovered  that  his  voice  was  full 
and  sweet.  Soon  insupportable  loneliness  drove  her 
to  seek  his  companionship,  and  he  would  relax  of  his 
sternness  and  tell  her  many  a  tale  of  flood  and  fire, 

214 


AN   ILIAD   OF   THE   SNOWS 

of  wild  beasts  and  wilder  men.  Once  he  narrated  a 
weird  tale  of  the  Ragged  Lands,  but  this  frightened 
her  and  he  told  her  no  more. 

One  evening  she  sat,  cheek  on  hand,  lost  in 
thought.  The  April  days  were  come  and  the  snow 
gone,  but  a  touch  of  frost  crisped  the  air,  so  he  had 
wrapped  her  about  with  his  mooseskin  coat.  Out 
in  the  sloughs  the  frogs  chattered  freely,  a  fox 
barked  on  the  prairie,  an  owl  hooted  in  the  timber. 
He  noticed  that  she  was  pale,  and  that  the  hand 
which  held  her  head  had  lost  its  plumpness. 
"You  are  thinking/'  he  queried,  "of — " 
"My  mother,"  she  quietly  replied.  Two  weeks 
before  she  would  have  answered  "Paul,"  but  now 
only  on  occasion  would  the  old  perversity  flash 
forth.  She  had  come  fully  to  understand  her  feeling 
for  the  Commissioner's  nephew.  She  was,  when 
he  succeeded  her  dead  father  as  Factor  of  Big  Grass 
Post,  of  a  marriageable  age  and  fancy  free.  His 
admiration  touched  her  vanity  and  ambition,  of 
which  she  had  a  pretty  woman's  share.  Some  day 
he  might  step  into  his  uncle's  shoes.  Then  what 
could  be  more  natural  than  her  mother's  wish  to 
see  her  safely  settled?  So  vanity,  ambition,  and 
interest  had  all  helped  to  produce  the  feeling 
Jeanne  mistook  for  love.  But  the  rude  shock 

215 


THE   PROBATIONER 

which  stirred  her  nature  in  its  elemental  depths  had 
shown  her  the  true  nature  of  her  liking. 

When  she  answered  thus,  a  strange  look  crept 
into  Brule's  face.  He  stealthily  regarded  her.  He 
opened  his  mouth  as  though  to  speak,  then,  quickly 
changing  his  mind,  held  his  peace.  More  than 
once  that  evening  he  seemed  on  the  point  of  com 
municating  some  grave  matter,  but  when  she  re 
tired  that  which  held  his  mind  was  still  unsaid. 

Late  that  night  she  roused  suddenly  from  sleep. 
The  door  shook  beneath  his  heavy  knock,  and  his 
voice  called  on  the  outside.  "Yes,"  she  answered, 
sitting  up. 

"Rise!"  he  called.     "Quickly!" 

While  she  was  dressing  she  heard  the  murmur  of 
voices;  but  when  she  stepped  out  the  midnight 
visitor  was  gone,  and  the  thud  of  hoofs  sounded 
faintly  in  the  distance.  Brule  stood  by  the  fire; 
his  pony  was  hitched  to  a  Red  River  cart.  All  was 
dark,  no  moon,  and  a  haze  hid  the  stars,  but  the 
glowing  embers  cast  a  red  light  on  his  face. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked. 

"The  Commissioner,"  he  replied,  coldly,  "left 
A  la  Corne  at  sunset.  He  had  with  him  a  new  rope 
and  a  score  of  men.  Come!" 

Then  began  a  long  series  of  marches  and  coun- 
216 


AN   ILIAD   OF   THE   SNOWS 

termarches,  twistings,  doublings,  turnings.  Like 
a  black  will-o'-the-wisp,  Brule  flitted  through  the 
Ragged  Lands.  To  find  a  man  in  that  earth  chaos 
is  equivalent  to  catching  an  eel  in  a  lake  of  mud, 
and  this  the  Commissioner  soon  found.  Once  he 
got  stalled  among  the  pits;  then  again,  but  for 
Brule's  warning  shout,  the  Commissioner's  trail 
would  have  come  to  an  end  in  the  depths  of  a 
black  morass.  It  was  very  irritating.  There  on 
the  other  side  of  the  swamp  stood  the  man  they 
sought,  giving  them  easy  counsel;  but  it  took  a  day 
and  a  half  to  gain  the  place. 

"Blood  of  the  devil!"  swore  the  Commissioner. 
"I'll  follow  him  now  to  the  bottom  hole  of  hell!" 
Yet,  despite  his  oath,  he  began  to  tire  of  the  chase. 
Besides  the  trials  of  the  trail,  things  were  not  run 
ning  smoothly  in  his  camp.  Paul's  bullying  temper 
kept  his  own  men  raw -edged  and  savage;  their 
woodland  superstitions  added  to  the  trouble;  but, 
what  was  more  aggravating,  the  men  of  A  la  Corne 
secretly  supplied  Brule  with  information  and  pro 
vision.  So  the  endless  chase  went  on,  while  the 
April  days  drew  close  to  May. 

When  the  Commissioner  began  to  scrape  acquaint 
ance  with  the  Ragged  Lands,  Brule  cut  over  to  the 
Pasquia  Hills,  and  there  was  nearly  caught.  Think- 

217 


THE   PROBATIONER 

ing  himself  at  least  a  day's  trail  ahead,  he  had 
camped  on  the  edge  of  a  forest  slough;  but  the  Com 
missioner  had  news  of  him  from  a  wandering  Cree, 
and  pressed  on  by  the  light  of  the  moon. 

At  midnight  Brule  awoke  to  find  them  close  upon 
him — just  a  strip  of  bush  lay  between.  A  neigh 
from  his  pony,  a  cry  from  Jeanne,  and  he  was  done. 
A  slash  of  his  knife  silenced  the  beast  forever;  then 
he  raised  the  fly  that  covered  Jeanne.  A  shaft  of 
moonlight  fell  athwart  her  face,  heightening  its 
pallor.  He  thought  she  stirred  when  the  pony 
fell,  but  her  eyes  were  closed,  and  her  bosom  heaved 
with  the  slow  sleep-rhythm.  He  stood  over  her, 
knife  in  hand.  A  blood  drop  slipped  from  the 
point  and  splashed  her  face.  She  started,  the  eye 
lids  contracted,  but  she  slept  on. 

"Hurry,  men!  Hurry!"  The  Commissioner  was 
speaking,  and  the  grumbling  tones  of  his  nephew 
answered  back.  Brule's  face  grew  black;  he  held 
his  breath;  his  hand  gripped  the  knife  till  the 
knuckles  shone.  He  glanced  down.  She  still  slept. 
Until  the  creak  of  saddles  and  the  thud  of  hoofs 
died  he  let  her  lie;  then  they  started  on  the  back 
trail — back  to  the  Ragged  Lands. 

That  long  and  weary  march  sapped  the  life  of 
Jeanne.  Day  by  day  her  pallor  increased;  she  was 

218 


AN   ILIAD   OF   THE   SNOWS 

getting  thin,  frail,  and  Brule  began  to  be  afraid. 
One  night  he  watched  her  closely  as,  according  to 
her  wont,  she  read  the  glowing  embers.  It  seemed 
he  could  read  along  with  her. 

"This  has  been  a  long  trail,"  he  said. 

She  returned  a  listless  "Yes." 

"You  wish  to  see  him — this  Scotchman?" 

She  wearily  answered  that  she  was  tired  and 
would  like  to  see  her  mother.  He  watched  her 
closely.  The  thought  of  home  had  brought  tears 
to  her  eyes,  and  the  big  drops  rolled  slowly 
down  her  cheeks.  He  turned  away,  rose,  and 
paced  uneasily  to  and  fro.  At  last  he  returned 
to  the  fire  and  placed  his  hand  gently  on  her 
head. 

"Enough,"  he  said,  gently.  "To-morrow  we  go 
to  the  Commissioner." 

"But  you,"  she  exclaimed,  in  sudden  fear,  "he 
will  surely  hang,  according  to  his  word." 

"Yes,"  he  assented;  "but  was  not  this  to  be?  A 
short  shrift  and  a  long  rope?  Well!  Better  that 
than  to  see  you  wedded  to — " 

"Alive  or  dead,  never!"  she  interrupted,  quickly. 

"Then,"  he  returned,  "  this  trail  has  brought  forth 
good  fruit.  Sleep  now,  for  to-morrow  we  have  a 
long  journey." 

is  219 


THE   PROBATIONER 

May-day  had  come,  with  its  wealth  of  greenery, 
and  for  a  week  the  Commissioner  had  heard  nothing 
of  Brule.  He  was  wearied  of  the  chase.  To  be  sure, 
the  man  might  be  close  at  hand;  but  then,  also,  he 
might  be  trailing  north  towards  the  Arctic  Circle. 
This  was  not  all.  Urgent  advices  called  him  south. 
For  six  weeks  the  business  of  the  Company  had  been 
neglected,  and  no  longer  could  it  get  along  without 
its  head.  So,  swearing  a  great  oath  to  keep  his  rope 
in  pickle  for  a  better  season,  the  Commissioner  gave 
orders  to  break  camp. 

The  morning  after  this  decision  he  awoke  cross 
as  a  balked  tiger.  He  was  not  used  to  being  success 
fully  defied.  He  loved  the  daughter  of  his  old 
comrade,  and  would  like  well  to  have  had  her  of  his 
family:  and,  to  cap  all,  Paul  was  pestering  him  to 
try  another  dash.  As  he  paced  irritably  to  and  fro 
before  his  tent,  a  shadow  fell  across  his  path. 

"It's  no  use,  Paul!"  he  exclaimed,  without  look 
ing  up.  "  Might  as  well  hunt  a  coyote  in  a  howling 
blizzard.  Better  give  it  up." 

"Sometimes  the  wolf  walks  into  the  trap." 

The  Commissioner  glanced  up  in  quick  surprise. 
Brule  stood  before  him.  He  was  travel  -  stained, 
his  face  was  haggard,  his  eyes  sombre.  It  had  cost 
him  something  to  surrender  his  triumph,  and,  had 

220 


AN   ILIAD   OF   THE   SNOWS 

he  known  this  was  the  moment  of  victory,  he  had 
never  done  it. 

"Are — you — mad?"  gasped  the  Commissioner. 

Brule  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  replied,  dryly: 
"You  do  well  to  ask,  m'sieu.  A  month  ago  I 
should  have  answered  you  yes." 

"Where  is  Jeanne  Dumont?" 

"Here!"  At  the  wave  of  his  hand  the  girl  came 
running  from  the  bush. 

"  By  the  mother  that  bore  me,"  roared  the  Com 
missioner,  folding  her  in  his  arms,  "as  you  have 
dealt  with  this  little  one,  so  will  I  deal  with  you!" 

"Then,"  she  whispered,  returning  his  hearty 
kiss,  "you  must  treat  this  —  gentleman  well.  As 
such  he  treated  me." 

"Paul!"  bellowed  the  old  man.     "Paul!" 

Paul  strode  from  his  tent;  then,  seeing  the  girl, 
broke  into  a  run.  "Jeanne!"  he  cried;  then  he 
spied  Brule.  Full  of  jealous  rage,  he  faced  the 
breed.  But  only  for  a  moment.  Tall  as  Paul  was, 
Brule  looked  down  on  him  with  cold,  sardonic  face 
and  savage  eyes.  For  a  moment  he  stood  fiddling 
with  the  butt  of  his  knife,  then,  muttering,  turned 
away. 

"Here,  Paul!"  The  Commissioner  made  to  hand 
the  girl  to  her  lover. 

221 


THE   PROBATIONER 

"No,  no!"  she  whispered,  clinging  to  him.  "Not 
yet!  Not  before  this  man!" 

"Tush!"  laughed  the  Commissioner.  "What 
modesty!  Take  her,  Paul." 

"I  tell  you  no!"  she  cried,  stamping  her  foot  with 
the  old  fire.  "I  never  loved  him,  and  now  I  know 
my  mind.  Go!"  she  cried,  in  sudden  wrath,  for  he 
was  sulkily  waiting  with  out-stretched  hands. 

Paul  cast  an  evil  glance  upon  Brule.  His  brow 
wrinkled,  and  a  sneer  trembled  in  the  fat  about  his 
nose.  "So  that's  the  way  the  buck  jumps,  is  it?" 
he  growled.  "Very  well,  my  lady.  There  are 
flowers  as  fair  for  the  picking,  and  some — fresher." 

As  the  last  word  left  his  lips,  Brule  struck  him 
to  the  ground.  "Beast,"  he  growled,  spurning  him 
heavily;  "eat  your  words!" 

"Leave  him  to  me."  The  Commissioner  laid  a 
trembling  hand  on  Brule's  shoulder.  He  was  pale 
with  passion,  his  gray  mane  bristled,  his  eyes  were 
hot.  "Get  up!"  he  thundered.  "Now  go  to  your 
tent  and  pack.  To-morrow  you  break  trail  for 
Confidence.  There,  among  the  Eskimos,  you  may 
find  your  equals." 

Paul  well  knew  the  meaning  of  that  sentence — 
banishment  to  dreary  arctic  wastes,  to  herd  with 
men  that  were  lower  than  the  beasts.  He  glanced 

222 


AN   ILIAD   OP   THE   SNOWS 

appealingly  up,  but  the  old  man's  face  was  stern  and 
hard.     He  turned  and  with  hanging  head  slunk  off. 

"And  now,"  said  Brule,  "what  is  it  to  be?  Make 
an  end." 

The  Commissioner  withdrew  his  eyes  from  the 
receding  figure  of  his  sister's  son.  "  I  had  sworn  to 
hang  you,"  he  muttered,  "and  one  hates  to  break 
one's  word." 

"But  you  also  swore,"  pleaded  Jeanne,  "  that  you 
would  deal  by  him  as  he  dealt  by  me." 

"So  I  did;  so  I  did.  Well,"  he  mused,  "I  sup 
pose  the  Company  deserves  a  little  consideration, 
too.  It  cannot  well  afford  to  lose  the  best  man  in  its 
service.  You'd  better  go  back  to  A  la  Come.  Now 
off  with  you!" 

Bowing,  Brule  strode  to  where  his  horse  was  tied 
in  the  forest.  Just  as  he  reached  it,  there  came  a 
quick  patter  of  running  feet,  and  Jeanne  burst 
through  the  scrub. 

"You  forgot,"  she  said,  holding  out  her  hand. 
"Good-bye!" 

"Good-bye,"  he  answered.  If  he  saw  the  hand 
he  did  not  heed  it.  She  blushed,  but  left  it  ex 
tended. 

"I — I — wanted  to  tell  you  something,"  she  con 
tinued. 

223 


THE   PROBATIONER 

"Yes?" 

He  was  making  it  hard,  but  she  was  not  to  be 
robbed  of  this  last  chance.  Three  times  the  night 
before  she  had  almost  waked  him  to  tell  that  which 
was  on  her  mind. 

"The  night  they  passed  in  the  forest/'  she  began, 
blushing  still  deeper,  "I — I — I  was  awake." 

"  You  were  ?" 

"Yes.    You  will  come  and  see  me — some  day?" 

"To  be  sure,"  he  replied,  gently,  "if  you  wish  it." 

How  stupid  he  was  !  She  almost  despaired  of 
him,  but  tried  again.  "  And  if  you  are  of  the  same 
mind" — now  he  started — "bring  with  you  a — " 
She  got  no  further.  How  can  a  girl  talk  without 
breath? 

"Jeanne!"  shouted  the  Commissioner.  He  hardly 
saw  the  necessity  of  leave-taking,  and  she  was  very 
long  about  it. 

"Coming!"  she  called.  "Yes  — there!  That's 
two!  Now  let  me  go!" 

"  Com— ing !     Oh,  please  /" 

She  tore  loose  and  ran  off,  panting  and  dishevelled. 
"  And  if  you  are  still  of  the  same  mind,"  she  repeated 
from  a  safe  distance,  "bring  with  you  a — priest!" 

Then  she  ran  hard. 


THE   DEVIL'S   MUSKEG 


THE    DEVIL'S    MUSKEG 


SHOULD  it  ever  be  your  fortune  to  shoot  over 
the  country  that  lies  between  White  Man's 
Lake  and  the  Riding  Mountains,  keep  a  loon's  eye 
open  for  the  Devil's  Keg.  It  will  pay  you.  There 
is  little  to  distinguish  it  from  the  common  hay 
slough,  but  you  may  know  it  by  this — no  water 
gathers  in  the  centre.  Around  its  edges  giant 
reeds,  like  regiments  of  busbied  grenadiers,  raise 
their  brown  polls  on  high,  and  spiky  sedges  turn  a 
cutting  edge  to  grasping  hands.  Its  surface  is  of 
fat  black  muck,  snowed  with  alkali,  apparently 
dry ;  but  if  you  would  not  follow  Hamiota,  the  Cree, 
clown  to  bottomless  depths  of  slime,  keep  your  feet 
from  its  treacherous  levels. 

Two  days  after  I  had  this  story  of  Pete  Brous- 
seaux,  I  asked  him  to  swerve  from  his  beaten  trail 
to  take  a  look  at  the  Devil's  Keg.  As  it  lay  only  a 
mile  to  the  east  of  his  string  of  traps,  Pete  readily 

227 


THE    PROBATIONER 

agreed.  Besides,  we  had  just  killed  a  red  fox;  its 
hot  entrails  dragged  from  the  toboggan  head,  and 
it  would  pay  well  to  trail  the  scent. 

Ten  minutes  afterwards  the  ponies  plunged 
through  the  encircling  wall  of  tangled  reed  and 
drift,  and  swept  on  to  the  dead  level  of  the  muskeg. 
The  sun  shone  brightly  down.  A  foot  of  snow,  all 
glittering  and  spangled  with  frost  diamonds,  hid  the 
black  muck;  and  the  ten  feet  of  frozen  slime  which 
crusted  the  quaking  deeps  would  have  given  firm 
footing  to  a  running  mammoth. 

"See,  m'sieu!"  said  Pete,  pointing  to  a  poplar 
stump  that  projected  over  the  sedges.  "There  it 
was  the  Cree  went  down,  an'  Jean  le  Gros  so  nearly 
followed.  He  is  a  good  boy,  this  Jean.  Ma  foi, 
yes!  But  too  fond  of  the  ladies  an'  they  of  him. 
Never  was  there  a  man  could  please  them  so!  An' 
because  of  this  he  nearly  die.  It  is  not  good  to  love 
too  much,  but  worse  to  love  too  many." 

The  year  before  the  Red  River  flood — the  point  in 
time  from  which  all  Pete's  stories  date — Towobat, 
headman  of  a  small  tribe  of  Crees,  pitched  his  tepee 
on  the  north  bank  of  White  Man's  Lake.  After  he 
had  decorated  the  adjacent  willows  with  strips  of 
white  rag — med'cine  for  devils — erected  the  tribal 
totem,  and  gone  through  all  the  other  minutise  of 

228 


THE   DEVIL'S   MUSKEG 

shaking  down,  he  loaded  his  big-wheeled  Red  River 
cart  with  his  latest  catch  of  skins,  and  creaked  off 
to  Felly  Fort. 

There  he  got  gloriously  drunk;  and,  in  his  ecstasy, 
maundered  of  a  marriageable  daughter  of  surpassing 
beauty.  Her  eyes,  he  confidentially  whispered  to 
Pete  Brousseaux,  would  shame  the  full  moon,  her 
waist  was  slender  as  that  of  the  Factor's  daughter. 
She  was  round,  full-bosomed,  could  bake  bannocks 
that  were  not  as  blankets,  and  pack  a  hundred 
pounds  through  the  heavy  snow.  So  beautiful  was 
she  that  common  report  had  it  that  he,  Towobat, 
was  not  her  father,  but  that  she  was  sprung  from  a 
god  who  came  on  her  mother  sleeping  in  the  grass. 
All  of  which  perfections,  virtues,  and  accomplish 
ments  were  exchangeable  for  one  rifle,  two  horns  of 
powder,  and  three  bottles  of  strong  water. 

Unfortunately,  Pete  was  already  contracted  to  a 
woman  of  the  Fellies,  who  kept  a  sharp  hatchet 
against  the  coming  of  possible  rivals;  so,  finding  he 
would  not  trade,  Towobat  loaded  himself,  some 
bacon,  and  a  couple  of  hundred  of  flour  into  his  cart 
and  creaked  off  to  White  Man's  Lake.  But  his  talk 
brought  results.  Within  a  week  Jean  le  Gros  stalked 
into  the  Indian  camp  and  took  a  look  at  the  girl. 

She  was  certainly  pretty;  tall,  well  built,  graceful 
229 


THE   PROBATIONER 

— for  an  Indian — with  large  black  eyes.  In  her 
hair  nestled  the  white  feather,  the  maiden's  mark. 
Her  skin  was  almost  white.  Whatever  doubts 
might  be  cast  on  her  divine  ancestry,  Towobat  was 
certainly  right  in  disclaiming  parental  honors;  and 
a  musket  and  two  horns  of  powder  was  a  small 
enough  price. 

"  Waugh!"  grunted  the  Cree,  when  Jean  proffered 
it.  "Him  drunk,  heap  drunk,  at  Pelly!  Squaw 
strong,  big,  fat,  plenty  work!  At  Norway  House 
him  fetch  two  rifle,  four  horn  powder,  an7  sack 
flour." 

Now,  the  difference  between  Indian  drunk  and 
Indian  sober  hardly  justified  a  fluctuation  in  values 
of  two  hundred  and  fifty  per  cent.,  but  Towobat 
held  to  his  price.  For  nearly  an  hour  they  haggled. 
Then  a  hint  of  a  possible  journey  to  Devil's  Drum, 
where  squaws  were  short,  brought  Jean  to  time. 
The  bargain  was  closed.  Towobat  pouched  a  birch 
chit  to  the  Factor,  and  pounded  his  ragged  pony 
every  inch  of  the  trail  to  Pelly,  while  Jean  stole  off 
to  seek  his  bride. 

He  found  her  on  the  outskirts  of  the  camp.  She 
was  sitting  on  a  ridge  that  runs  out  into  White 
Man's  Lake.  Behind  her  the  brown  prairies  scorch 
ed  in  the  sun;  across  the  lake  loomed  the  green 

230 


THE   DEVIL'S   MUSKEG 

mountains.  A  gentle  breeze  checkered  the  water 
with  vivid  patches  of  crimson,  brown,  and  yellow 
leaves.  She  rose  at  his  step,  and  stood,  looking 
sulkily  upon  him. 

"Lau  is  now  my  woman,"  he  said  in  Cree.  "Let 
her  come  to  my  tepee."  She  made  no  answer,  but 
stood,  pouting  her  full  lips  that  were  red  as  the  wild 
cherry.  "Yes,"  he  added,  by  way  of  compliment 
and  to  tempt  her;  "it  is  said  that  Lau's  bannock  is 
fit  for  the  Commissioner,  and  that  the  venison 
tenders  in  her  hands.  In  my  tepee  is  much  flour, 
also  bacon;  great  stores  of  sharp  knives,  and  red 
blankets  that  are  very  warm." 

She  made  no  answer.  Generally  the  Indian  girls 
were  overready  to  take  a  white  husband,  and, 
though  puzzled,  he  put  out  his  hand  to  take  the 
white  feather  from  her  hair.  His  fingers  had  al 
most  closed  on  it  when,  with  a  laugh,  she  sprang 
from  beneath  his  hand.  Her  robe  dropped  from 
her  shoulders.  He  got  one  flashing  glimpse  of  a 
rounded  body  outlined  against  the  silvery  birch; 
then,  like  a  brown  arrow,  she  shot  through  the  air 
and  clove  the  sunlit  waters. 

Now,  the  summers  of  Jean's  youth  had  been 
mostly  spent  on  the  mighty  bosom  of  the  St. 
Lawrence,  and  though  a  man  may  forget  relatives, 

231 


THE   PROBATIONER 

friends,  enemies,  even  the  wife  of  his  bosom,  skill  in 
swimming  he  may  not  forget.  So,  when  the  girl  rose 
fifty  yards  from  the  shore,  she  found  Jean  speeding 
along  in  her  wake.  He  swam  heavily,  to  be  sure, 
and  puffed  like  a  grampus,  but  his  great  body  shore 
through  the  water.  And  the  girl,  too,  swam  well, 
with  a  long  overhand  stroke.  At  every  reach  her 
body  flashed  its  length  in  the  sunlight,  lay  for  an  in 
stant  cradled  in  foam,  then  sank  in  the  limpid  water. 

By  the  time  they  had  half  crossed  the  lake,  Jean's 
strength  began  to  tell.  Gradually  the  distance 
lessened  until  he  could  have  placed  a  hand  upon  her 
shoulder,  but  when  he  reached,  she  dived,  coming  up 
twenty  yards  to  the  right.  Again  he  caught  up,  to 
have  the  dive  repeated;  and  again  and  again,  and 
still  again,  she  slipped  from  his  hand.  Yet  despite 
her  every  trick  and  turn  he  kept  so  close  that  when 
she  left  the  water  he  was  close  behind. 

Once  in  the  woods,  the  waving  branches  marked 
her  passing,  and  in  five  minutes  he  had  run  her 
down.  Hot,  gasping,  panting  like  a  chased  hare, 
but  still  defiant,  she  faced  him  in  a  woodland  dell. 
Jean  the  Big  looked  down  on  her  with  smiling  eyes. 
He  was  wet,  his  clothing  clung  to  his  body;  he 
looked  and  felt  like  some  huge  amphibian,  yet  he 
was  still  Jean  the  Good-Natured. 

232 


THE   DEVIL'S   MUSKEG 

"The  Cree  maidens  swim  like  the  jack-fish  and 
run  like  the  red  deer,"  he  laughed.  "Could  they 
but  fly  like  the  mallard,  they  might  escape .  the 
marrying  yoke."  He  reached  towards  the  feather, 
but  she  drew  quickly  away  and  smote  his  hand 
smartly.  "So!"  he  exclaimed,  softly.  "She  must 
needs  fight!" 

Seizing  her  by  the  shoulder,  he  pulled  her  towards 
him,  and  the  next  moment  was  lying  on  his  back. 
The  moment  he  pulled  she  had  pitched  forward, 
tripping  at  the  same  time,  and  Jean  had  thrown 
himself.  It  was  a  wrestling  trick  of  his  own,  but 
who  would  have  expected  it  from  a  girl?  Angry 
and  ashamed,  he  sprang  up  and  seized  her.  She 
struggled  fiercely,  but  her  obstinate  resistance 
simply  made  him  more  determined.  Grasping 
her  by  the  waist,  he  tore  her  loose  and  swung 
her  up  to  the  stretch  of  his  arms.  And  there 
he  held  her,  watching  the  fear  gather  in  her 
eyes. 

"Pouf!"  he  exclaimed,  suddenly  setting  her 
down.  "There  is  nothing  to  fear,  little  one.  Jean 
le  Gros  wants  love  that  is  freely  given.  Let  Lau 
return  to  her  father's  tepee." 

As  he  turned  to  go  a  low  laugh  sounded  in  the 
dell,  and  a  gentle  hand  touched  his  shoulder. 

233 


THE   PROBATIONER 

Slipping  to  her  knees,  Lau  slid  the  feather  from  her 
hair  and  laid  it  shyly  in  his  palm. 

Being  thus  well  married  after  the  fashion  of  the 
Crees,  who  stole  the  rite  from  the  Bones,  who  took 
it  from  the  Mound-Builders,  who  inherited  it  from 
Father  Adam,  Jean  le  Gros  built  a  cabin  hard  by 
White  Man's  Lake  and  settled  down  to  family  life. 
Lau  was  now  a  person  of  importance  in  her  tribe, 
and  bore  herself  accordingly.  She  walked,  nez 
retrousse,  by  the  bucks,  who  in  the  days  of  her 
virginity  had  laid  fat  puppies  at  her  feet,  while  her 
tribeswomen  turned  a  greedy  ear  to  her  tale  of  bead 
and  skin,  blanket  and  provision,  and  other  won 
drous  matters  of  her  housekeeping.  To  these,  her 
own  people,  she  was  cold  and  haughty,  as  became 
the  wife  of  a  mooniah,  but  Jean  she  loved  with  the 
furious  passion  that  is  sometimes  disconcerting  to 
its  less  emotional  object. 

Yet  this  excess  of  love  had  its  advantages.  She 
sought  to  do  the  things  that  pleased  him  best.  His 
cabin  was  always  neat  and  clean,  his  bannock  sweet, 
his  meat  well  cooked  and  tender.  And  she  was 
greedy  to  learn.  One  day  Father  Francis  found  her 
squatting  in  his  kitchen  at  Ellice  while  she  gravely 
noted  the  movements  of  Pierre  Recard,  the  mission 
cook.  And  ten  minutes  thereafter  a  tremendous 

234 


THE   DEVIL'S   MUSKEG 

smash  brought  him  flying  to  the  rescue  of  the  same 
Pierre,  who  lay  amid  the  ruins  of  his  largest  platter, 
with  Lau  brandishing  a  cleaver  above  his  head. 
Then  there  was  great  inquisition.  For  three  days 
Pierre  did  penance  for  the  sin  of  his  eyes,  but  Lau 
had  to  go  elsewhere  for  lessons  in  cookery. 

But  soon  winter  closed  in.  Ten  feet  of  solid  ice 
mailed  the  lake,  and  the  Devil's  Keg  gurgled  help 
lessly  beneath  its  winter  coat.  Sometimes  a  blizzard 
tore  over  the  lake,  threatening  to  twist  Jean's  cabin 
up  by  the  roots,  and  then  the  frost  would  come  out 
of  the  north;  the  mercury  would  drop  to  seventy 
and  odd  below,  and  a  great  hush,  broken  only  by 
the  pistol-crack  of  freezing  trees,  brooded  over  the 
forest.  But  it  was  warm  within  the  cabin.  A  half 
cord  of  dry  poplar  crackled  in  the  wide  chimney, 
and  sent  a  stream  of  spark  arid  flame  high  above  the 
roof-tree.  On  milder  days  Jean  cut  wood  and  visited 
his  traps. 

And  so  the  winter  passed.  The  sun  returned 
from  the  Southland  to  the  music  of  running  waters. 
Day  by  day  his  arc  increased  across  the  sky;  but  it 
was  in  this,  the  eighth  month  of  her  married  life, 
that  Lau's  sun  went  out.  With  the  first  spring 
days  came  orders  for  Jean  le  Gros  to  trail  north  and 
run  the  season's  pack  from  Norway  House. 

'6  035 


THE   PROBATIONER 

The  evening  before  his  departure  they  were  at  the 
cabin  door,  looking  down  the  lake.  A  thunder- 
shower  had  just  blown  by.  The  air  was  cool  and 
sweet,  the  wind  moaned  in  the  poplar,  and  shadows 
of  gray  clouds  leadened  the  white -capped  water. 
Jean  leaned  against  the  wall  smoking;  Lau  crouched 
at  his  feet. 

"We  have  been  happy."  She  spoke  in  dull, 
hopeless  tones. 

"I  shall  re  turn." 

"But  the  daughter  of  the  Factor  of  Norway 
House  ?"  she  went  on,  with  darkening  eyes.  "  She  is 
beautiful,  it  is  said.  I  hate  her!" 

"Am  I  not  married  to  thee,  Lau?" 

She  nodded.  "  Yes,  after  the  fashion  of  my  people, 
which  binds  not  the  men  of  the  Company.  Was  not 
the  Factor  of  Devil's  Drum  married  to  Saas,  daughter 
of  Clear  Sky,  the  Sioux?  She  bore  him  three  chil 
dren,  yet  did  he  afterwards  marry  a  soft  woman  of 
his  own  breed." 

"Bah!"  Big  Jean  stooped  and  lifted  her  to  his 
knee.  "I  am  not  Black  Jack,  but  Jean  le  Gros. 
There  is  none  like  my  Lau.  See  you,  little  one,  this 
is  an  order  of  the  Company.  I  go  to  Norway  House? 
Yes!  But  surely  will  I  return  to  thee." 

"Some  day!  I  know  it,"  she  returned,  though  t- 
236 


THE    DEVIL'S    MUSKEG 

fully.  "And  after  that  will  marry  with  one  of  thy 
own  race.  But  it  is  meet/'  she  continued,  resigned 
ly,  "  that  wolf  mate  with  wolf.  But  the  little  she- 
fox  that  ran  with  the  wolf — what  of  her?  For  her 
folly  shall  she  be  torn  and  eaten.  Yet  I  have 
loved." 

Creeping  close,  she  ceased,  and  allowed  present 
joy  to  smother  the  prescience  of  coming  sorrow. 
For  hours  they  sat  thus ;  but  when  at  last  the  copper 
moon  slipped  from  behind  a  storm-cloud,  they  rose 
and  closed  the  cabin  door. 

A  month  or  so  after  Jean  le  Gros  crossed  the 
fifty-fourth  parallel  on  his  journey  northward,  the 
wander  lust  entered  into  Towobat  and  his  band,  and 
laid  them  by  the  heels.  They  made  great  prepara 
tion  for  a  moose  hunt,  northerly  to  the  Pasquia 
Hills.  Towobat  would  have  liked  well  to  take  Lau 
along.  Unmarried  trappers  were  plentiful  at  Fort 
a  la  Corne,  and  Towobat's  experience  did  not  lead 
him  to  expect  the  return  of  Jean  le  Gros.  There 
was  really  no  reason  why  she  should  not  take  an 
other  man.  But  when  he  entered  her  cabin  and 
gave  orders  to  pack,  she  turned  on  him,  hatchet  in 
hand.  Towobat  fled.  It  was  nip  and  tuck.  For 
twenty  yards  he  ran  a  smart  race  with  death,  and 
won — by  a  nose.  But  he  lost  an  ear.  As  he  shot 

237 


THE   PROBATIONER 

through  the  doorway  her  hatchet  whistled  by, 
shaving  the  ear  as  clean  as  a  surgeon's  knife.  And 
while  the  hatchet  stuck  quivering  in  a  tree,  Towobat 
increased  his  lead,  thanking  his  gods  the  while  for 
the  excess  of  rage  that  offset  his  daughter's  lack 
of  filial  piety. 

So  the  tribe  marched  without  her.  For  a  week 
the  smoke  of  burning  bush  by  day  and  the  red  sky 
glow  at  night  kept  her  posted  on  its  movements; 
then,  as  the  deer  scared  to  the  north,  the  sign  failed. 
Jean  had  left  her  well  supplied.  Of  flour  and  bacon 
she  had  enough  to  last  the  summer.  Jack-fish  she 
speared  in  the  shallows,  where  the  lake  overflow- 
seeps  into  the  Devil's  Keg,  saskatoons  were  to  be 
had  for  the  picking  on  the  prairie,  and  cranberries 
were  plentiful  in  the  bush. 

She  was  happy  after  a  fashion,  living,  woman 
like,  in  her  dream  of  love,  though  the  practical 
savage  way  of  looking  naked  truth  in  the  face 
assured  her  of  its  ultimate  ending.  But  he  might 
come  back — for  a  little  longer.  Often  she  walked 
over  to  the  hog's-back  where  Jean  found  her,  and 
slipping,  eellike,  from  her  blanket,  gazed  on  the 
reflection  in  the  water.  A  dark  face  flushed  with 
red,  white  teeth,  misty  black  eyes,  these  she  saw 
dancing,  elf  like.  With  the  rounded  body  she  had 

238 


THE   DEVIL'S   MUSKEG 

no  quarrel;  nor  with  the  masses  of  knee-long  hair, 
save  perhaps  they  were  a  trifle  straight.  But  that 
dark  skin!  Frowning,  she  would  dash  her  foot 
across  the  image,  dissolving  it  in  a  thousand  ripples, 
then,  quickly  diving,  she  would  swim  over  the  old 
course,  plunge  into  the  woods,  and  lie  in  the  little 
dell. 

But  in  the  third  month  of  her  loneliness  she 
received  news  of  Jean,  and  it  came  in  this  wise. 
Returning  from  her  fishing,  she  saw  at  a  hundred 
yards  her  cabin  door  standing  wide.  Surely  Jean 
must  have  returned,  she  thought.  Eagerly  she  flew 
over  the  intervening  space,  but  halted  dead  on  the 
threshold.  On  the  mud  floor  a  blanket  was  spread, 
and  on  it  was  piled  her  store  of  beads  and  moccasins, 
knives,  cooking  utensils,  the  skins  from  her  bed,  and 
all  her  provisions.  Behind  the  heap,  calm,  im 
passive,  but  threatening,  stood  Hamiota,  the  Lame 
Wolf,  the  one  of  all  her  former  suitors  whom  she 
feared. 

"Waugh!"  he  growled.  "Lau  has  been  long  at 
the  fishing.  Tie  up,  that  we  may  be  going."  He 
pointed  to  the  bundle. 

Laying  down  her  fish  and  spear,  she  stepped 
forward,  sullen  but  obedient,  her  lashes  cast  down 
to  hide  her  eyes. 

239 


THE   PROBATIONER 

"I  have  paid,"  he  continued,  pinching  his  fingers 
into  the  flesh  of  her  arm,  "  a  great  price  in  skins  to 
the  old  fox,  Towobat.  Come!" 

She  sank  beside  the  pile,  drew  together  the  ends 
of  the  blanket  and  knotted  them,  then,  rising,  waited 
for  further  orders. 
"Marche!" 

She  hoisted  the  bundle  and  stepped  to  the  door, 
then  stopped  and  set  it  down.  "Stay,"  she  said, 
"there  is  the  money  of  the  Red  Bear — the  big 
dollars  of  silver  buried  in  the  earth  beneath  the 
bed." 

Tearing  the  bunk  to  one  side,  she  drove  the  fish- 
spear  into  the  ground  close  to  the  wall.  The  Cree 
stood  over,  watching  with  greedy  eyes.  Presently, 
when  the  ground  was  well  loosened,  she  began  to 
throw  out  the  dirt.  A  little  more  digging,  and  the 
spear  stuck  in  something  solid.  It  looked  like  a 
square  box.  She  stooped  down  and  tried  to  raise  it, 
but  failed. 

"It  is  heavy!"  she  panted. 
"Lau  has  become  soft,"  sneered  the  Cree.     "She 
has  lain  too  close  and  warm.     Stand  aside!" 

As  he  bent  to  the  hole,  she  raised  the  sharp  fish- 
spear  and  struck  down  betwixt  his  shoulders. 
Through  and  through  it  pierced,  standing  out 

240 


THE   DEVIL'S   MUSKEG 

beyond  his  breast.  Shuddering,  he  fell  forward, 
driving  the  barb  back  within  his  breast,  and  writhed 
on  the  ground  wormlike,  the  black  blood  pouring 
from  his  mouth. 

"So  Lau  is  soft?"  she  cried.  "Yet  would  it  have 
tried  the  strength  of  even  Hamiota  to  lift  the  sill 
of  the  cabin.  Now  listen,"  she  went  on,  stooping  to 
the  level  of  his  eyes;  "Hamiota  would  have  forced 
me  to  mate  with  him.  Like  a  fish  he  wriggles. 
And  when  the  Red  Bear  comes  to  his  den,  then  shall 
I,  lying  in  his  arms,  tell  of  the  folly  of  Hamiota,  and 
how  he  died  at  the  hand  of  a  squaw." 

Through  the  man's  dulling  ear  the  name  pene 
trated  to  the  darkening  chambers  of  his  brain. 
He  looked  up.  His  eyes  were  glazing,  his  tongue 
strove  desperately  with  the  black  blood  for  one 
last  utterance. 

"The  — Red— Bear!"  he  gasped.  "The  — Red 
— Bear — mates  with — one  of — his  breed!" 

Lau  caught  her  breath,  and  for  a  brief  space 
looked  down  on  the  dying  man.  Then  she  seized 
him  by  the  shoulders  and  shook  him  violently. 
"Liar!"  she  muttered,  hoarsely.  "Liar!  Tell  me 
more  of  this." 

But  the  Lame  Wolf  had  already  limped  over  the 
great  divide,  and  answered  not  her  challenge.  She 

241 


THE   PROBATIONER 

rose  with  fear  and  trouble  in  her  eyes,  and  sat  down 
on  the  bed  to  think.  For  a  long  half -hour  she 
brooded.  Her  gaze  rested  on  the  stricken  Cree, 
but  she  saw  him  not;  her  thoughts  were  travelling  to 
Jean  le  Gros.  Was  it  possible  that  Hamiota  had 
news  of  him? 

"Bah!"  she  exclaimed,  rising  and  passing  her 
hand  across  her  brow.  "He  was  ever  a  liar!"  She 
spoke  confidently,  but  a  deadly  fear  gripped  her 
heart.  And  though  she  kept  on  assuring  herself 
that  he  had  lied,  she  felt  there  would  be  no  peace 
till  she  knew  for  certain. 

Hastily  she  dragged  the  body  forth  and  loaded  it 
on  her  wood  -  sled.  Ten  minutes  therefrom  the 
Devil's  Keg  opened  its  greedy  maw,  and  with  a 
sucking  splash  the  Lame  Wolf  started  on  his  long 
journey  in  its  bottomless  depths.  Then,  after 
ridding  up  her  house — for  Jean  le  Gros  might  come 
back  while  she  was  gone — Lau  broke  trail  for  Pelly. 

There  she  got  news :  Jean  was  to  be  married  shortly 
to  Virginie,  daughter  of  the  Factor  of  Norway  House. 
When  the  last  word  was  spoken  she  drew  the  blanket 
over  her  head,  and,  unmindful  of  pitying  words,  de 
parted  for  her  place.  They  watched  her  down  the 
trail,  a  lonely  figure  limping  its  solitary  way  over 
the  illimitable  prairies  back  to  the  savage  woods. 

242 


THE   DEVIL'S   MUSKEG 

On  the  third  day  following  her  departure,  worn, 
weary,  hopeless,  she  crawled  into  her  cabin  and  lay 
like  a  stricken  deer. 

"You  will  have  notice,  m'sieu,"  said  Pete  Brous- 
seaux,  when  telling  this  story,  "  what  a  great  hunter 
is  the  devil?  See  you,  a  man  makes  his  cake,  but 
the  devil  bakes  it.  An'  so  it  is  with  this  Jean  le 
Gros.  He  is  by  order  of  the  Company  named  Factor 
of  Big  Grass  Post.  He  will  marry  presently  the 
prettiest  girl  of  the  North.  Yes!  Then,  by  Gar,  he 
must  needs  kiss  good-bye  to  his  ol'  sweetheart!  Was 
there  ever  so  much  of  a  fool?" 

But  when  Jean  le  Gros  rode  south  to  get  his  ap 
pointment  of  the  Commissioner  he  had  no  intention 
of  seeing  his  Indian  wife.  His  mind  was  perfectly 
at  ease  in  the  matter.  Had  he  not  made  full  con 
fession  to  Father  La  Riviere,  and  received  absolu 
tion,  along  with  the  intimation  that  it  was  his  duty 
to  marry  with  his  own  kind  and  raise  stout  children 
to  Holy  Church?  Then,  he  had  but  done  as  others 
did.  Lau  would  probably  follow  his  example  and 
take  another  husband.  Here  came  the  first  twinge 
of  conscience.  For,  though  man  loves  to  browse  in 
pastures  new,  it  shocks  him  not  a  little  to  think  that 
similar  inclinations  may  trouble  his  womankind. 

While  under  the  smile  of  the  Factor's  daughter, 

243 


THE   PROBATIONER 

the  feeling  was  bearable,  but  its  strength  increased  in 
proportion  to  the  distance  he  travelled  south ;  and  at 
last  it  was  sufficiently  strong  to  swerve  him  from  the 
path  of  duty — as  laid  down  by  the  holy  father — and 
the  Felly  Trail. 

"What  think  you?"  he  said  to  France  Dubois,  his 
fellow-traveller.  "Would  it  not  be  one  shame  to 
pass  so  near  the  old  cabin  an'  no'  bid  the  girl  adieu?" 

Being  unmarried  and  of  a  warm  fancy,  France 
agreed  that  it  would.  Now  that  he  was  thus 
committed,  Jean's  feelings  underwent  a  further 
revolution.  The  figure  of  Lau  danced  before  him 
clothed  with  all  the  fascination  of  the  forbidden. 
After  all,  he  reasoned,  she  knew  nothing!  Why  dis 
turb  her  happiness?  Let  her  love  a  little  longer! 
Then,  there  could  be  no  harm  in  it.  As  for  Virginie 
— well,  she  was  a  sad  flirt.  Even  now  she  would  be 
making  eyes  at  the  English  clerk. 

Thus  it  came  about  that  at  Ten-Mile  Forks  France 
held  on  to  Pelly,  while  Jean  spurred  hotly  to  White 
Man's  Lake.  As  his  horse  splashed  through  the 
shallows  where  Lau  took  her  fish,  the  dusky  sun 
sank  over  the  edge  of  the  world,  but  the  great  flat 
moon  sailed  high  and  lit  him  up  the  bank.  Bathed 
in  its  brilliant  light,  lake,  wood,  and  bluff  stood 
clearly  out,  lacking  but  the  colors  of  the  day.  Over 

244 


THE   DEVIL'S   MUSKEG 

him  a  black  cloud  swept  with  rush  of  beating  wings, 
the  ducks  quacked  and  quarrelled  on  the  waters,  the 
frogs  chattered,  and  the  owls  hooted  in  the  forest. 

At  the  top  of  the  bank  he  reined  in,  clapped  hands 
to  mouth,  and  gave  forth  a  piercing  bush  -  yell. 
Shrill  and  clear,  it  reverberated  from  shore  to  shore 
and  raised  a  thousand  echoes  in  the  sleeping  woods. 
Before  the  last  answer  died,  he  was  riding  along  the 
bank  above  the  Devil's  Keg.  Beneath  him  it  fell 
sheer  to  the  black  morass;  a  false  step,  a  stumble, 
spelled  death. 

Suddenly  he  reined  his  horse  back  on  his  haunches, 
almost  throwing  him  over  the  bank.  A  sombre 
figure,  like  a  black  pillar  in  the  white  light,  stood 
squarely  in  his  path.  For  the  space  of  a  dozen 
breaths  he  sat  his  horse,  staring;  then  the  blanket 
rolled  from  the  figure's  head. 

"Lau?" 

"'Yes/  said  I,"  she  answered,  talking  to  herself. 
"'He  will  come  again — once.  Then  will  the  little 
she-fox  be  torn  in  many  pieces.'" 

The  tone  was  low,  but  he  heard.  "  See  you,  little 
one/'  he  laughed,  "said  I  not  that  I  would  return? 
Here  am  I!  There  is  none  like  my  Lau!"  The 
words  rang  cheerily,  but  the  consciousness  of  their 
falseness  kept  him  at  his  distance. 

245 


THE   PROBATIONER 

"Hast  thou  truly  returned,  Red  Bear — to  me?" 

He  hesitated.  Her  face  looked  strange.  The 
moonlight  softened  and  toned  down  the  harsh 
lines  of  sorrow,  but  her  eyes  glowed  with  a  black 
fire.  Once,  of  a  dark  night,  he  had  gazed  into  the 
eyes  of  a  mountain-lion  just  before  he  made  his  leap. 
They  looked  like  these. 

"Truly  I  have  come  back  to  thee!"  Perhaps 
he  meant  it — just  then.  His  words  sounded 
sincere. 

"Liar!" 

She  ran  forward,  arms  stretched  above  her  head. 
The  horse  snorted,  reared,  wheeled,  poised  for  a 
second  in  mid-air,  then  launched  out  over  the  Devil's 
Keg.  As  he  left  the  bank  Jean  slipped  the  stirrups 
— too  late!  The  brute  shot  from  beneath  him,  and 
they  dropped,  a  few  feet  apart,  into  the  sucking 
clutch.  Over  them,  clearly  outlined  against  the 
dark -blue  sky,  stood  the  mad  woman. 

"Truly,"  she  cried,  laughing  shrilly,  "thou  hast 
returned  to  me!" 

She  stretched  over  the  gulf.  Jean  had  already 
sunk  to  the  knees,  and  the  keg  sucked  and  pulled  on 
his  feet.  He  stood  still  and  quiet.  This  was  death, 
slow  death,  for  cowards;  for  him  simply  burial. 
Already  his  knife  was  in  his  hand.  Two  yards  to 

246 


THE   D  E  v  i  L  's   MUSKEG 

his  right  the  horse  weltered  in  a  flurry  of  black  mud, 
sinking  deeper  at  every  struggle.  Leaning  over, 
Jean  cut  the  brute's  throat.  There  was  yet  plenty 
of  time  for  himself.  The  Devil's  Muskeg  does  not 
haste  in  devouring  its  victims.  It  needs  not,  for 
there  is  no  escape. 

" Thou  hast  returned!"  she  called  again.  "  Come, 
then!"  She  spread  wide  her  arms.  "No?  Then 
open  for  me!" 

With  the  last  word  she  sprang  wildly  out  and  fell 
beside  him.  Jean  sheathed  his  knife,  slipped  his 
arm  about  her,  and  tried  to  lift  her  clear.  Then  he 
bent  over,  scooped  the  mud  from  her  ankles,  and 
tried  again.  With  a  squelch,  her  feet  pulled  from 
the  clutch  of  the  keg,  and  he  swung  her  up  to  the 
full  stretch  of  his  arms;  and,  looking  down,  Lau 
remembered  the  day  in  the  forest.  The  cloud  swept 
from  her  hot  brain;  she  saw,  and  realized  where  she 
was. 

"Set  me  down,"  she  said,  quietly,  all  trace  of 
madness  gone.  "Set  me  beneath  thy  knees  and 
let  me  die  the  first;  for  I  brought  this  trouble  on 
thee,  my  love." 

"No!"  he  answered,  looking  into  her  eyes.  "In 
this  thou  art  innocent,  and  I  am  well  served.  And 
there  is  work  for  thee.  Go  to  the  Factor  of  Pelly, 

247 


THE    PROBATIONER 

and  tell  him  to  send  word  of  this  to  Norway  House. 
There  is  one  there  that  should  know.  Though," 
he  muttered,  "she  will  soon  be  comforted.  And 
bid  him  also,"  he  continued,  aloud,  "tell  Father 
Francis  to  say  a  mass  for  the  soul  of  Jean  le  Gros." 

There  was  no  time  for  more.  The  Devil's  Keg 
lingers  over  its  victims  like  some  huge  gourmand,  but 
beneath  the  double  weight  Jean  was  sinking  fast. 
Just  opposite,  a  cave-in  of  the  bank  had  swung  a 
leafy  poplar  down  and  out  over  the  muskeg.  The 
branches  trailed  in  the  mud  a  few  feet  beyond  his 
reach.  On  this  he  fixed  his  eyes.  Swinging  quickly 
back,  he  threw  smartly  forward  and  hurled  Lau's 
light  body  up  into  the  tree. 

She  landed  fairly  in  the  centre,  striking  her  head 
against  the  trunk,  and  lay  stunned.  Up  and  down 
tossed  the  tree.  It  seemed  as  if  its  living  freight 
must  drop  back.  Jean  watched  with  anxious  eyes; 
if  she  fell,  it  would  be  beyond  his  reach.  But  soon 
the  heaving  subsided,  the  tree  rested,  and  she  still 
lay  among  the  branches. 

With  a  sigh  of  relief  Jean  turned  to  his  own  affairs. 
He  was  already  down  to  the  waist.  The  keg 
gurgled  beneath  him,  and  sounds  like  the  smacking 
of  great  lips  were  all  about  him.  The  clutch  at  his 
heels  throbbed  with  the  rhythm  of  a  pulse.  Slipping 

248 


THE    DEVIL'S   MUSKEG 

his  knife,  he  got  ready  against  the  time  when  the 
mud  should  touch  his  armpits. 

Ten  minutes  passed — fifteen — and  the  girl  had 
not  moved.  Five  minutes  more,  and  the  chill  slime 
touched  his  breastbone.  Now  it  was  time.  Rais 
ing  the  knife,  he  turned  a  last  glance  on  the  still 
figure.  Surely  she  stirred!  He  hesitated.  She 
moved,  sat  up,  and  caught  the  glint  of  the  steel  in 
his  hand. 

"No!"  she  cried.  "No,  Jean?  Not  yet!  The 
horse!  The  horse!  The  lariat  at  the  saddle  bow!" 

The  beast's  last  struggle  had  brought  him  within 
easy  reach.  A  ray  of  hope  shot  into  Jean's  mind. 
Leaning  over,  he  paddled  in  the  mud.  She  watched 
him  breathlessly.  Presently  he  raised  his  hand, 
and  a  black,  dripping  string  followed  it  above  the 
surface.  A  slash  of  the  knife  freed  the  saddle  end, 
and  Lau  caught  the  noose  as  it  flew  from  his 
hand. 

She  fastened  it  in  the  tree,  and  Jean  le  Gros  began 
his  battle  with  the  Devil's  Keg.  The  gluey,  viscid 
muck  seemed  to  suck  with  a  thousand  mouths,  but 
slowly  he  drew  towards  the  tree.  When  his  strength 
failed,  he  passed  a  turn  of  the  rope  about  his  waist, 
and  the  woman  held  what  he  had  gained.  Inch  by 
inch,  foot  by  foot,  yard  by  yard,  he  fought  his  way, 

249 


THE   PROBATIONER 

and  at  last,  pale,  trembling,  damp  with  sweat,  he 
fell  against  the  bank. 

Lau  slipped  from  the  tree  and  helped  him  up  the 
steep;  then  she  took  his  head  on  her  lap  and  wiped 
his  brow.  He  was  drained  of  strength  and  lay  weak 
as  a  child. 

"I  have  not  deserved — "  he  began,  but  she  cover 
ed  his  mouth  with  her  hand.  He  kissed  it  and  lay 
still.  Half  an  hour  slipped  by.  A  great  hush 
brooded  over  the  forest.  The  frogs  had  ceased 
their  chatter,  the  owl  his  solemn  questioning,  and 
the  lonely  bittern  forgot  his  solitary  cry. 

"Come,"  he  said,  rising.     "Let  us  go  home." 

She  paused,  questioning  him  with  her  eyes. 

"What  is  it?"  he  asked. 

"  The— other— woman  ?" 

"There  is  but  one  woman,"  he  answered,  gently. 
"Come!  For  to-morrow  we  go  to  Father  Francis." 


A   SLIP   OF   THE    NOOSE 


A    SLIP    OF   THE    NOOSE 


IT  is  well  to  be  in-doors  when  the  smothering 
blizzard  cuts  loose  in  the  Northland  and  turns 
five  hundred  thousand  miles  of  prairie  into  a  white 
and  whirling  hell;  and  so  thought  the  Pelly 
trappers.  They  hunched  up  to  the  red  stove  in 
the  big  log  store  and  listened  to  the  voice  of  the 
storm.  It  was  intensely  cold.  The  spirit  ther 
mometer  on  the  log  veranda  registered  sixty-five 
below  zero,  every  nail  and  scrap  of  door  iron  was 
embossed  with  glittering  frost,  and  an  inch  of 
clouded  ice  covered  the  window-panes.  Outside, 
the  furious  wind,  veering  from  every  point  of  the 
compass,  now  walled  the  fort  with  circling  clouds 
of  snow;  then,  changing  tactics,  blew  steadily  from 
one  direction,  threatening  to  bury  it  beneath  mon 
strous  drifts.  Suddenly  it  dropped,  and  the  falling 
snow  settled  in  straight  lines. 

"Storm  over?"    A  man  glanced  up. 
253 


THE   PROBATIONER 

"Bah!"  A  half-breed  trapper,  who  had  just 
come  in,  tugged  at  his  frozen  beard  and  shrugged 
his  shoulders.  "  He  just  begin.  Listen!" 

Far  off  the  sigh  of  the  wind  rose  to  a  sob,  a  moan, 
a  shriek;  then,  with  thunderous  roar,  the  storm 
struck  the  building. 

"So!"  continued  the  breed,  unwinding  a  long 
neck-scarf.  "He  ees  the  king  blizzard.  Soon  we 
have  spreeng,  eh?  This  dam  cloth!  No  loose  yet." 
A  solid  inch  of  ice  gripped  scarf  and  beard. 

"Guess- you're  right,  Brousseaux,"  chipped  in 
another  man.  "You  made  the  fort  just  in  the  nick 
of  time,  old  man.  Here,  stick  that  goatee  o'  yourn 
on  this."  The  breed  thrust  out  his  chin.  Placing 
an  axe  head  beneath  the  beard,  the  man  gently 
crushed  the  ice  with  the  poker. 

"There,"  he  said.  "Talk  less  on  the  trail,  Pete, 
an'  you'll  have  less  ice  in  your  whiskers." 

"Thanks!  Yes,  I  will  have  your  advice."  He 
combed  the  beard  with  his  fingers.  "  It  ees  a  hard 
trail,  the  Pelly.  An'  in  a  blizzard!  This  ees 
better,  eh?" 

"Any thin'  new  on  the  plains?" 

"Ah,  now  you  spick,  my  friend.  Ees  ther' 
news?  Of  a  sort,  yes."  He  rubbed  his  hands,  as  a 
cat  paws  herself,  and  his  face  darkened. 

254 


A   SLIP   OF   THE   NOOSE 

"Good?" 

"Who  knows?  I  have  listen  to  the  cry  of  a  man 
child  born  to  the  great  prairie.  That  ees  good! 
Men  are  few,  comrades  die.  The  child  mus'  bear 
hees  mother's  name — this  ees  bad!  It  was  best  for 
boy  to  have  father." 

"What's  this,  Pete?"  A  big  Englishman  sitting 
next  the  breed  laid  a  heavy  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"It  ees  you,  Elliot?  Yes,  you  shall  hear,  but 
first — more  wood.  The  frost,  he's  in  my  bones." 
When  quarter  of  a  cord  of  dry  poplar  was  roaring 
in  the  furnace  he  hitched  closer  and  spread  his 
palms  to  the  heat.  "Yes,"  he  continued,  "it  was 
bad,  ver'  bad,  for  May  Dupre  that  her  father  die — " 

"What?    Louis  Dupre?" 

Brousseaux  nodded.  "  Oui !  Louis  have  kill  hees 
las'  moose  an'  trap  hees  las'  mink,  an'  so  much  the 
worse  for  hees  daughtaire." 

"  A  good  man  gone  to  glory!"  " Best  shot  on  the 
plains!"  "Guided  the  Red  River  expedition  under 
Wolseley  in  the  seventies!"  came  from  around  the 
circle.  The  breed  waited  for  the  last  tribute  of 
respect. 

"An'  so  much,"  he  repeated,  "the  worse  for  hees 
daughtaire.  You  see" — reaching  for  the  English 
man's  pipe — "  las'  spreeng  Dupre  an'  Glen  Cameron 

255 


THE   PROBATIONER 

hunt  north  of  Lak'  Winnipegosis.  They  build 
cabin  at  Big  Moose  Lak',  an'  May  cook  hees  grub. 
Las'  June  Dupre  fall  seeck,  ver'  seeck.  Soon  he  die. 
They  bury  heem.  Then — ah,  well" — with  an  ex 
pressive  shrug — "what  would  you?  The  girl  was 
pretty,  the  man  han'some  an'  strong.  They  hunt 
till  first  snows.  Then  Glen  bring  the  girl  to  Ellice 
while  he  go  to  Winnipeg.  Before  he  return — the 
child  ees  born." 

He  stopped.  The  men  leaned  to  the  stove, 
silently  smoking,  listening  to  the  storm,  brooding 
over  his  words.  They  were  a  hard-bit  lot,  swept 
from  the  four  corners  of  the  earth  and  dumped  in 
this  little  corner  of  the  frozen  north;  yet  each  had 
his  code  of  honor,  his  notions  of  morality,  and 
a  strong  sense  of  justice.  Their  own  forest  loves 
they  conducted  very  much  after  the  fashion  of 
Father  Adam;  but  this  was  a  woman  of  their  blood, 
subject  to  a  different  law.  Had  she  male  kin,  they 
would  have  noted  the  incident  with  mild  interest, 
expecting  a  red  atonement;  but  she  was  an  orphan. 

From  the  law  she  could  get  no  redress.  True, 
by  hard  stretching,  its  long  arm  just  reached  the 
fifty -third  parallel,  but  its  clutch  was,  at  best, 
spasmodic  and  uncertain.  And  she  had  grown  to 
womanhood  beneath  their  eyes;  was  one  of  them 

256 


A   SLIP   OF   THE   NOOSE 

— a  member  of  that  community  which  counts  its 
neighbors  from  Winnipeg  to  Fort  McCloud,  from 
Pembina  to  the  arctic.  Her  wrong  was  theirs — 
theirs  its  righting. 

"Won't  he  marry  her?"  asked  Elliot. 

Brousseaux  shook  his  head.  "No,  my  friend/7 
he  answered,  slowly.  "Was  there  ever  before  so 
much  of  a  fool  ?  A  girl,  pretty ;  a  man  child,  strong 
and  fat;  an'  marry?  No!  An'  all  because  of  the 
hot  word  of  a  fool  priest.  But " — shaking  his  head — 
"  he  was  ever  stiff  in  hees  neck,  this  Glen  Cameron. 
Strong  as  a  buffalo,  straight  as  a  young  poplar,  mark 
you,  with  a  tongue  of  fire  an'  a  devil  temper.  An 
ill  man  to  meddle  with!  Ma  foi!  Yes." 

"I  know  the  breed,"  mused  Elliot.  "Aberdeen 
granite  foundation,  dash  of  French  pepper,  and 
blood  enough  to  make  'em  sullen.  But  what's  this 
about  the  parson,  Pete?" 

"The  priest?  You  know  heem,  Pere  Francis — 
Ellice  Mission." 

"Fussy  little  fool!" 

"As  you  say!  Well,  he  spick  beeg  word,  ver' 
beeg,  to  this  thick  in  hees  head  Scotchman.  It  is 
well  to  spick,  yes,  but  softly,  so  hees  word  tickle 
hees  ears,  but  'Scoundrel!  Marry  or  I  curse!'" 
Brousseaux  lifted  his  eyebrows.  "This  to  a  man? 

257 


THE   PROBATIONER 

It  ees  bad.  But  for  the  priest  Glen  marry  the 
girl." 

"A  praste,  a  woman,  to  raise  the  divil,"  growled 
Irish  Dan,  "an"  its  meself  knows  the  combination. 
Whin  Father  OToole  put  the  ban  on  Biddy—" 

"Dry  up,  Dan!"  "Save  your  wind!"  "We 
know  what  happened  the  father!"  shouted  the  men. 
"Ought  to,"  added  Elliot;  "he's  told  us  forty 
times." 

"Begor,"  grumbled  the  Irishman,  "wudn't  yez 
let  a  man  tell  his  little  story,  ye  hay  then  thaves? 
Fire  up,  Recarde,  it's  gettin'  colder.  It's  roastin' 
I  am  in  front  an'  freezin'  behint,  be  the  same  token." 

He  turned  his  back  to  the  stove  and  watched  the 
powdery  snow  sifting  through  the  key-hole.  It 
stretched  from  the  door  to  his  feet,  forming  a 
miniature  mountain  range  across  the  floor.  Brous- 
seaux  leaned,  catlike,  over  the  stove,  heating  the 
marrow  in  his  bones  for  the  next  day's  trail — he 
was  due  at  Fort  a  la  Corne,  one  hundred  miles 
away,  in  two  days'  time.  Outside,  the  snow  hissed 
along  ahead  of  the  nor 'wester;  the  building  shook 
beneath  the  blows  of  the  storm;  the  wind  sobbed 
and  wailed  in  the  chimney;  the  windows  rattled  in 
the  casements.  The  men  smoked  quietly.  Some 
were  travelling  frozen  trails  with  the  dead  trapper, 

258 


A   SLIP   OF   THE   NOOSE 

others  were  thinking  of  his  daughter.  The  iron 
clang  of  the  stove  door  broke  the  silence.  The 
Irishman  was  stoking  up. 

"Where's  Glen  now?"  a  man  asked. 

"Winnipeg.     Come  back  in  the  spreeng." 

"An'  May?" 

"With  Stewart,  Factor  of  Ellice." 

"She's  in  good  hands,"  said  Elliot.  He  glanced 
interrogatively  round  the  circle.  "Well,  boys?" 

A  man  rose  and  knocked  the  ashes  from  his  pipe — 
a  tall  Canadian,  a  son  of  Anak,  standing  six  feet 
six  in  his  moccasins,  straight  as  a  pine,  with  a 
splendidly  formed  body.  He  yawned.  As  he 
stretched,  his  knotty  hands  touched  the  spruce 
rafters,  and  his  body  loomed  up  like  a  stocky  oak. 

"Boys,"  he  growled,  "we're  a-goin'  to  play  a 
han'  in  this  game.  I  reckon  May  Dupre  don't  lie 
in  the  mud  while  there's  man  or  gun  in  Pelly." 

"Now  you  spick,  Bill  Angus,"  muttered  Brous- 
seaux. 

The  south  wind  was  eating  the  snow,  and  water, 
strangely  unfamiliar,  covered  the  slough  ice  before 
Glen  Cameron  returned  from  Winnipeg.  Above 
him  travelled  the  big  mallard  and  the  wild  goose, 
heralds  of  coming  spring.  Along  the  great  valley 

259 


THE   PROBATIONER 

of  the  Assiniboine  the  forest  awoke  from  its  long 
sleep  and  gave  vent  to  arboreal  yawns,  sighs,  and 
soughings;  the  music  of  running  waters  delighted 
ears  tuned  to  the  stern  hiss  of  drifting  snow,  and 
the  doors  of  Ellice  flung  wide  to  admit  the  warm 
sunshine  of  the  first  spring  days. 

Glen  had  settled  in  his  cabin  on  the  table -land 
above  the  fort  a  couple  of  weeks  before  the  news 
travelled  to  Pelly.  He  lived  alone.  His  father,  the 
old  Factor  of  Devil's  Drum,  had,  when  Glen's  head 
topped  his  boot,  mixed  things  badly  with  a  bull 
moose,  and  the  mould  of  eighteen  summers  covered 
his  forest  grave.  His  mother  lived  in  Winnipeg  on 
a  pension  allowed  her  by  the  Company.  Through 
her  he  inherited  a  strain  of  French -Cree  blood, 
slight,  but  sufficient  to  speck  his  blue  eyes  with 
spots  of  darkest  brown  and  to  touch  his  temper  with 
sullenness.  This  lick  of  the  blood  was  favored  by 
birth  and  raising.  He  got  his  first  notions  of  life 
along  with  his  first  nourishment  from  a  Cree  foster- 
mother,  and  this  strange  conjunction  of  blood  and 
breeding  produced  the  stiffest  man  north  of  fifty- 
three. 

Three  weeks  passed  without  his  going  near  Ellice. 
Ostensibly,  he  was  preparing  for  a  hunting  to  the 
north,  yet  constantly  upon  some  pretext  he  de- 

260 


A   SLIP   OF   THE   NOOSE 

f erred  his  departure.  The  real  reason  he  never 
acknowledged  until,  one  Saturday,  Pete  Brousseaux, 
carrying  the  northern  mail,  dropped  in  and,  along 
with  his  letters,  gave  him  the  news. 

"As  you  say,  ver'  fine  weather,  bon!  Ma  foi! 
Yes!  An'  you  will  be  goin'  to  the  christening  to 
morrow,  eh?" 

After  Pete  had  gone,  wondering  at  the  look  in 
Glen's  face,  he  paced  back  and  forth  like  a  caged 
beast.  The  sun  went  down  on  his  walking,  and 
the  gray  lights  of  dawn  found  him  walking.  When 
the  morning  brightened  a  little  he  banged  the 
cabin  door  and  strode  off  in  the  direction  of  the 
fort. 

Very  shortly  the  winding  trail  brought  him  to 
the  valley.  Eight  hundred  feet  below  the  swift 
Assiniboine  writhed  in  giant  convolutions  along  the 
level  bottoms.  On  the  eastern  horizon  the  rising 
sun,  a  molten  disk,  gleamed  through  a  cloud-glory 
of  ruby  and  gold.  Gray  shadows  shrouded  the 
river,  and  towards  these,  down  the  steep  headlands, 
crept  the  rosy  flush  of  the  morning.  Glen  stopped 
and  gazed  at  the  vermilion  splendors  of  cloud  and 
sky.  Then,  from  his  right,  the  mission  bells  of 
Ellice  pealed  forth  the  matin  chime.  Clear,  silvery, 
resonant,  the  wave  of  sound  flooded  the  valley  to 

261 


THE   PROBATIONER 

the  distant  hills,  echoed  in  the  black  ravines,  and 
filled  the  air  with  rippling  music. 

The  man's  face  took  on  a  softer  look.  Those 
bells  had  tolled  the  knell  of  his  father,  and  they 
called  back  vivid  memories  of  childhood  days.  He 
bowed  his  head  until  the  last  vibrant  echo  died  in 
the  black  ravines;  then  the  sun  rose  high  above 
the  horizon,  and  things  took  on  their  workaday 
aspect.  The  mood  passed.  He  walked  on  to  the 
mission  chapel,  where,  leaving  the  trail,  he  crept 
into  a  poplar  bluff  and  lay  down  in  the  grass. 

Little  by  little  the  fort  quickened  into  life. 
Smoke  rose  from  the  Factor's  chimney,  and  then 
tinkling  bells  told  of  cows  wandering  to  pasture  in 
the  bottoms.  Gray  squirrels  popped  from  holes, 
examined  the  trespasser,  and  skipped  off  about  the 
serious  business  of  life.  Cheeky  gophers  decided  their 
matrimonial  squabbles  beneath  his  nose,  but  he  saw 
them  not,  as  he  lay  quietly  watching  the  smoke. 

A  couple  of  hours  passed  before  an  old  trapper 
hobbled  over  to  prepare  the  chapel  for  service. 
Glen  could  hear  him  moving  inside,  opening  windows, 
sweeping,  and  dusting  the  altar.  He  finished. 
There  was  quiet;  then,  suddenly,  the  mass  bell 
swung  above  his  head,  and  its  solemn  chime  echoed 
through  the  valley. 

262 


A   SLIP   OF   THE   NOOSE 

And  now  across  the  prairie  sounded  the  creak 
of  huge-wheeled  Red  River  carts — Father  Francis's 
Indian  converts  coming  from  the  reservation.  They 
groaned  up  to  the  chapel  door  and  discharged  their 
loads  of  broad -faced,  chattering  squaws.  After 
them  a  dozen  silent  Indians  filed  into  the  mission. 
A  few  scattering  settlers  came  afoot,  on  horse,  or 
driving  buckboards.  The  Hudson  Bay  men  lounged 
over  from  the  fort,  but  before  they  could  enter  the 
building  a  half-score  mounted  men  swept  round  a 
poplar  bluff — the  Pelly  trappers  come  to  lend  a 
hand  in  christening  Dupre's  grandchild.  Then, 
black-cassocked,  portly,  with  mass-book  under  arm, 
Father  Francis  stepped  from  his  house  and  strode 
across  the  yard. 

At  last  the  Factor's  door  opened.  Two  women 
came  out  and  moved  towards  the  chapel.  Glen  got 
to  his  knees  and  stared.  She  was  looking  well! 
Her  face  was  beautiful  as  ever,  and  maternity  had 
given  a  needed  roundness  to  her  figure.  He  noted 
the  tender  droop  of  the  lip  as  she  bent  over  the 
child.  Yes,  she  certainly  looked  well  and — a 
jealous  pang  nipped  him  hard — happy!  This  was 
not  what  he  expected,  and  he  tried  to  tell  himself 
that  he  was  glad,  but — what  a  fool  he  had  been! 
She  whom  he  had  left  clothed  in  the  ugliness  of  form 

263 


THE   PROBATIONER 

which  precedes  the  birth  of  life  had  blossomed  as 
the  butterfly  from  the  chrysalis.  She  entered 
the  church,  and  the  priest  began  to  intone  the 
mass. 

"In  nomine  Patris  et  Filii  et  Spiritus  Sancti !" 

"Amen!"  answered  the  quavering  voice  of  the 
clerk. 

How  familiar,  but — how  long!  It  seemed  to  the 
impatient  man  that  the  interminable  responses 
would  never  have  done.  At  the  "  mea  culpa,  mea 
culpa,  mea  maxima  culpa,"  he  unconsciously  beat 
his  breast.  At  last  the  priest's  voice  hushed.  There 
came  an  expectant  rustle,  and  through  the  open 
window  there  travelled  the  wail  of  an  infant.  Glen 
started  and  half  rose,  but  the  voice  of  Father  Francis 
sent  him  back. 

"And  now  we  will  proceed  with  the  holy  service 
of  baptism,  a  sacrament  ordained  of  God  and 
consecrated  by  the  usage  of  Peter  and  Paul,  His 
holy  apostles." 

Once  more  the  rustle,  mixed  with  murmuring 
voices  and  shuffling  feet.  The  child  wailed  again, 
thrilling  the  man  with  strange  emotion.  He  heard 
the  mother  hushing  it.  His  straining  ear  caught  the 
swish  of  her  skirts  as  she  rocked  to  and  fro;  then 
silence. 

264 


A   SLIP   OF   THE   NOOSE 

"The  name  of  the  father  of  this  child?" 

Dead  silence.  Glen  sprang  to  his  feet  and  made 
for  the  chapel  door.  He  was  on  fire.  He  could 
see,  in  imagination,  the  girl  meekly  standing  before 
the  accusing  priest.  Half-way  he  stopped.  The 
Factor  was  speaking. 

"Till  some  guid  mon  shares  his  name  wi'  this 
puir  misdealt  lassie,  I'll  be  father  till  the  laddie. 
He  tak's  my  name." 

"Who  stands  sponsor  for  this  child?" 

"We  do!"  Like  the  growl  of  distant  thunder 
the  response  rolled  from  the  throats  of  the  Pelly 
trappers. 

"And  dost  thou,  William  Stewart,  renounce 
Satan,  his  pomp  and  works?" 

"I  do!"  the  sponsors  answered. 

"  Dost  thou  believe  in  God,  the  Father  Almighty, 
Creator  of  heaven  and  earth?" 

"I  do  believe!" 

"Dost  thou  believe  in  Jesus  Christ,  His  only  Son 
our  Lord,  Who  was  born  into  this  world  and  suffered 
for  us?" 

"I  do  believe!" 

"Then  in  the  name  of  the  Father,  and  of  the 
Son,  and  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  I  baptize  thee,  William 
Stewart.  May  our  blessed  Lady  make  intercession 

265 


THE   PROBATIONER 

at  the  throne  of  the  Most  High,  that  the  stain  of 
wedless  birth  be  not  cast  against  thee!" 

"Amen!'7 

Strong  and  fervent,  mixed  with  the  gutturals  of 
the  Indians,  the  answer  passed  through  the  open 
windows  and  died  far  out  on  the  prairie.  An  old 
Gregorian  chant  finished  the  service;  then,  laughing 
and  exchanging  greetings,  the  congregation  tumbled 
out-of-doors — the  good,  the  bad,  and  the  indifferent 
rubbing  elbows,  and  none  to  tell  the  difference. 

For  a  while  the  young  mother  stood  in  a  ring  of 
squaws,  watching  her  baby  passing  from  breast  to 
breast.  The  red  women  clucked  their  wonderment 
at  the  exceeding  whiteness  of  his  skin.  After 
dowering  him  with  small  moccasins  worked  curious-" 
ly  in  beads,  they  mounted  the  crazy  carts  and 
drove  off  across  the  prairie.  Then  the  Factor  took 
the  baby  and  presented  him  to  his  numerous 
fathers  in  God;  and  the  men  of  Pelly  manoeuvred 
him  as  though  he  were  a  jewel  of  great  price,  liable 
to  break  in  the  handling.  The  stout  arms  of  Bill 
Angus  trembled  beneath  the  load,  and  he  sweated 
profusely  till  relieved  of  the  burden.  They  all 
agreed  there  never  was  such  a  baby. 

Then  came  the  birth  offering.  Long  knives, 
damascened  in  silver  or  gold;  rifles  that — in  the 

266 


A   SLIP    OF   THE    NOOSE 

hands  of  a  northman — never  missed;  belts,  pouches, 
and  other  gear  of  war  and  the  chase,  were  laid  at 
the  baby's  feet.  Bill  Angus  presented  him  with  the 
deed  of  a  square  mile  of  land,  and  Recarde  with  a 
stack  of  beaver,  to  be  trapped  the  coming  summer; 
but  Pete  Brousseaux,  the  cunning,  broke  all  their 
hearts.  With  a  shy  grin  he  brought  forth  a  re 
splendent  rattle,  wondrously  tipped  with  rubber, 
and  especially  warranted  to  be  efficacious  in  teething. 

When  the  giving  was  over,  the  Pelly  men  hobbled 
their  horses  and  strolled  off  to  the  fort  along  with 
their  Ellice  comrades.  Ten  minutes  afterwards  the 
head  of  the  last  settler  bobbed  out  of  sight  behind 
the  long  roll  of  the  prairie,  and  Glen  was  alone. 
He  waited  until  the  Factor's  door  closed  on  woman 
and  child,  then  took  the  road  home. 

Just  before  the  trail  swung  from  the  valley  a 
cloud  hid  the  sun.  Instantly  the  smiling  peace 
vanished,  and  the  landscape  clothed  itself  in  naked 
savagery.  From  the  black  of  the  tree-lined  ravines 
the  bald  headlands  stood  forth  like  the  breasts  of  a 
proud  woman.  A  chilly  wind  came  out  of  the  west 
and  moaned  in  the  sombre  spruce,  while  on  the 
horizon  smoky  thunder-heads  piled  fleece  on  fleece. 
The  change  suited  Glen's  mood.  He  gazed  his  fill, 
then  held  on  to  his  solitary  cabin. 
18  2G7 


THE   PROBATIONER 

By  sundown  black  clouds  covered  the  sky,  and 
the  roll  of  distant  thunder  announced  the  coming 
storm.  With  night  came  the  first  rain — big  drops, 
hitting  the  ground  with  a  thud.  Gray  shapes 
turned  and  twisted  between  earth  and  sky;  the 
lightning  quivered  all  around.  The  air  was  sultry, 
and  the  windows  of  the  Factor's  house  stood  open. 

May  Dupre  sat  in  her  bedroom,  watching  the 
approach  of  the  storm.  The  baby  was  sleeping 
quietly.  She  had  laid  off  her  dress  for  the  night, 
and  her  neck  and  arms  gleamed  in  the  flashing 
lightning  like  polished  marble.  A  gust  of  wind 
swept  the  rain  into  her  room.  She  raised  her  hand 
to  close  the  window,  then  paused,  listening.  The 
thud  of  horses!  And  from  the  fort!  Surely  the 
Pelly  men  would  never  take  the  trail  on  such  a 
night? 

A  splitting  crash  overhead  started  her  back,  but 
in  the  following  flash  she  saw  a  score  of  horsemen. 
A  man  was  coming  towards  the  house.  She  heard 
his  knock  and  whispering.  A  name  rose  to  her 
window. 

"  Hush !"  warned  the  Factor.  "  The  lassie's  windy 's 
open." 

She  leaned  forward,  straining  her  ears  to  catch 
the  whispers.  Through  the  darkness  she  made  out 

268 


A  SLIP   OF  THE   NOOSE 

the  figure  of  Bill  Angus.  In  the  dim  light  his  long 
body  took  on  an  additional  cubit,  and  his  immense 
width,  fading  into  the  gloom,  conveyed  an  im 
pression  of  indefinite  extension. 

"I'll  hae  naught  to  do  wi'  it,"  finished  the  Factor, 
aloud.  "Gang  yer  ain  gait,  Bill  Angus." 

"Please  yerself,"  answered  the  giant.  "He 
swings." 

The  girl  gasped,  and  staggered  back  to  the  bed. 
Hang,  they  said!  No!  No!  It  must  not  be! 
She  had  long  ago  forgiven.  And — she  still  loved. 

Her  preparations  were  quickly  made.  Picking 
up  the  baby,  she  placed  him  to  the  breast  and  coax 
ed  him  to  repletion.  Then,  with  the  little  head 
bowed  in  slumber,  she  tucked  him  warmly  in  bed, 
threw  a  shawl  over  her  shoulders,  and  crept  softly 
down-stairs. 

The  Factor  had  gone  to  bed;  she  could  hear  his 
heavy  breathing.  She  opened  the  door  carefully 
and  slipped  outside,  but  as  she  turned  to  close  it 
the  shawl  swept  away  on  the  wind.  She  hesitated, 
then  plunged  on  into  the  blackness.  The  rain 
splashed  on  her  naked  arms  and  breast,  but  she 
moved  steadily  forward,  feeling  the  trail  with  her 
feet.  A  crash  of  thunder  broke  overhead.  A 
brilliant  flash  lit  the  prairie  for  miles  around,  and 

269 


THE   PROBATIONER 

showed  the  trail  winding  like  a  black  serpent  across 
the  dun  plain.  The  priest's  house,  black  windowed 
and  wetly  glittering,  flashed  out  as  she  passed  by. 
She  thought  she  saw  a  white  face  peering  through 
the  window.  Another  blaze  of  fire  and  the  corral 
came  into  view,  with  old  Spot,  the  bell  cow,  standing 
tail  to  wind,  head  over  the  fence. 

A  bolt  flared  from  the  sky  and  struck  the  ground 
at  her  feet.  The  air  filled  with  sulphurous  fumes, 
and  she  was  momentarily  blinded  and  half  stunned 
by  the  concussion.  A  lull,  almost  a  silence,  followed, 
then  the  voices  of  the  storm — the  pattering  rain, 
the  moaning  wind,  the  rustling  trees,  and  the  splash 
ing  water — resumed  their  interrupted  song.  When 
the  flickering  light  again  illumed  the  prairie,  old 
Spot  lay  dead  in  the  midst  of  a  dozen  of  her  progeny. 

May  moved  on.  For  one  brief  second,  deathlessly 
still  to  the  eye,  though  trees,  shrubs,  and  grass  were 
in  violent  motion,  the  great  valley  uncovered  before 
her;  then  she  turned  the  bend  and  headed  for  Glen 
Cameron's  cabin. 

The  rain  beat  heavily  on  the  sod  roof  of  Glen's 
shanty,  finding  its  way  through  in  several  places. 
On  a  rude  bunk,  fashioned  from  poplar  poles,  lay 
the  owner,  trying,  in  tobacco,  to  find  surcease  from 

270 


A   SLIP   OF   THE   NOOSE 

mental  pain.  A  brass  lantern  swung  from  the  low 
roof  above  his  head.  Across  the  building  ran  a 
couple  of  heavy  logs  dividing  house  from  stable,  and 
behind  them  stood  Glen's  horse.  The  rain  dripped 
into  the  stall,  but  the  man  had  covered  the  beast 
with  his  own  blanket;  and  now,  as  he  smoked,  he 
listened  to  the  brute's  contented  munch  and  was 
grateful  for  the  companionship. 

Suddenly  the  beast  stopped  eating.  Raising  his 
head,  he  whinnied  loudly.  A  faint  answer  rose  above 
the  roar  of  the  storm.  Glen  sprang  up  and  seized 
the  lantern,  but  before  he  reached  the  door  the 
latch  clicked,  and  a  score  of  men  filed  in  and  sur 
rounded  him.  He  glanced  round  the  circle — Bill 
Angus,  Brouleaux,  Elliot,  Recarde,  Brousseaux, 
and  a  dozen  others.  He  knew  them  all  and — their 
errand. 

For  almost  a  minute  they  stood  quietly  regarding 
him.  At  last  he  broke  the  silence. 

"A  bad  night,  gentlemen!" 

"  Ye'll  fin'  it  so!"  The  answer  came  from  behind, 
but  when  he  turned  it  was  to  meet  calm  and  im 
passive  faces.  He  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"What  can  I  do  for  you?" 

"You  know,"  said  the  same  voice. 

"Oh,  I  do?"    His  eyes  glittered,  his  mouth  drew 

271 


THE   PROBATIONER 

hard,  his  grasp  tightened  on  the  lantern.  He  half 
swung  it  to  strike,  then  smiled  contemptuously  and 
set  it  on  the  ground.  "Well,"  he  said;  folding  his 
arms,  "make  it  so!  Now,  what  are  you  going  to  do 
about  it?" 

"  Look  a'  here,  Glen."  The  big  Canadian  stepped 
to  the  front.  "No  living  man" — with  sinister  ac 
cent  on  the  word — "shall  boast  that  he  brought 
shame  to  Dupre's  girl.  Ye'll  either — " 

"  I'll  trouble  you  to  mind  your  own  business.  And 
I  might  as  well  tell  you  I'm  not  interested  in  Sun 
day-schools." 

"  This  is  our  business,"  returned  the  giant,  soberly, 
"  es  yer'll  soon  find  out.  Nor  is  this  a  prayer-meetin' 
crowd,  es  yer  well  know.  Mebbe  we  ain't  much 
to  brag  about  in  the  highly  moral  line,  but  there's 
some  things  es  is  a  leetle  high  for  our  stomachs. 
We're  here  to  give  yer  a  chance  to  do  the  right 
thing." 

Glen  made  no  answer.  His  eyes  looked  over  their 
heads,  a  smile  was  on  his  lips,  his  face  the  very  in 
carnation  of  obstinate  resolve.  Out  of  the  corner 
of  his  mouth  trickled  a  streak  of  blood  where  the 
strong  tooth  had  bitten  through  the  lip. 

"This  thick  in  hees  head  Scotchman,"  muttered 
Brousseaux,  beneath  his  breath.  "  Strong,  straight, 

272 


A   SLIP   OF   THE    NOOSE 

an;  han'some" — he  surveyed  the  figure  with  covert 
admiration — "  a  devil's  temper,  an  ill  man  to  meddle 
with — alone!" 

"Ye  kin  take  five  minutes  to  consider  the  prop- 
ersition." 

Dead  silence  fell  in  the  hut.  Even  the  horse 
ceased  his  stamping,  and  looked  on  with  shining 
eyes.  Outside,  the  thunder  rolled  and  growled, 
fitful  flashes  lit  the  prairie  to  the  sky-line,  the  rain 
beat  against  the  window  and  swept  in  glittering  lines 
through  the  open  door.  Five  minutes  passed  away. 

"Will  yer  marry  the  girl?" 

"No!" 

The  men  closed  in. 

Meanwhile  May  Dupre  splashed  on  through 
mud  and  mire.  Never  since  the  Red  River  flood 
had  so  much  rain  fallen  in  one  night.  The  trails 
were  running  rivers,  an  inch  of  water  covered  the 
prairie,  the  lightning  flashed  back  from  the  surface 
of  an  inland  sea;  yet,  drenched,  with  hair  flying  loose 
around  bare  neck  and  arms,  like  some  water-kelpie, 
she  pressed  forward.  Occasionally  she  stopped  to 
listen,  always  with  the  feeling  that  some  one  was 
following.  Once  a  large  animal  crossed  the  trail 
and  plunged  into  the  willow  scrub.  At  the  foot  of 

273 


THE   PROBATIONER 

the  rise  leading  to  Glen's  cabin  the  sound  of  galloping 
horses  came  down  the  wind.  She  had  just  time  to 
drop  behind  a  bunch  of  red  willow  before  the  Pelly 
men  swept  by.  Angus  was  in  the  lead.  She  got 
one  glimpse  of  pale  faces,  ghastly  under  the  sickly 
lightning,  and,  like  an  evil  dream,  they  were  gone. 
Springing  up,  she  ran  desperately  up  the  slope. 

A  light  shone  through  the  open  door.  Then  she 
was  in  time!  Perhaps  he  had  been  away!  Or — 
consented.  No!  Not  on  such  terms!  She  walked 
up  and  looked  in. 

He  swung  to  and  fro,  hands  still  twitching,  the 
stretched  rope  giving  forth  a  doleful  creaking.  At 
each  gyration,  a  black  shadow,  ominous  and  terrible, 
swept  across  the  floor  to  the  opposite  wall,  driving 
the  snorting  horse  up  in  his  stall.  Black  spots 
danced  before  the  girl's  eyes;  she  leaned  forward, 
paralyzed,  her  mouth  wide  open  as  though  to  cry 
aloud,  but  silent,  fascinated  by  the  dance  of  death. 

An  uneasy  whinny  from  the  horse  restored  to  her 
the  power  of  motion.  She  moved,  and  with  the 
released  breath  came  forth  the  suspended  cry  of  the 
agonized  spirit. 

She  flew  at  the  rope  tooth  and  nail,  tearing  her 
fingers  on  the  hard-drawn  knot  without  loosening  a 
strand.  Despairingly  she  glanced  around  the  cabin. 

274 


A   SLIP   OF   THE   NOOSE 

An  axe  leaned  in  the  corner.  One  stroke  and  he  was 
down;  then,  laying  his  head  on  her  lap,  she  drew, 
with  careful  haste,  the  keen  edge  across  the  noose. 
The  tightened  strands  flew  apart,  and  with  a  hollow 
sound  fresh  air  rushed  to  the  choked  lungs.  Taking 
her  wet  skirt,  she  wiped  the  blood  and  froth  from 
his  mouth;  then,  pillowing  his  head  on  her  bosom, 
she  rocked  to  and  fro,  waiting  in  agony  for  a  sign  of 
life. 

Slowly  the  man's  soul  came  back  from  the  valley 
of  the  shadows.  The  lagging  pulses  took  up  their 
beat,  and  a  sigh,  faint  as  the  breath  of  summer, 
issued  from  his  lips.  She  heard  it.  Reaching  over, 
she  pulled  the  blankets  from  the  bunk  and  made  a 
pillow  for  his  head.  Then  she  got  water  and  poured 
some  in  his  mouth.  He  swallowed,  groaned;  his 
eyelids  moved  and  opened. 

For  nearly  a  minute  he  stared  blankly  at  the 
ceiling,  a  puzzled  look  on  his  face,  trying  to  collect 
his  thoughts.  Then  his  eye  lighted  on  the  girl. 
She  rose,  blushing,  and  shook  her  long  hair  around 
her  shoulders. 

"May?" 

He  sat  up  and  gazed  round  the  cabin,  striving  to 
understand.  The  axe  and  the  severed  noose  lay 
beside  him,  the  rope  dangled  from  above. 

275 


THE    PROBATIONER 

"You— did— this  ?" 

"I  tried  to  warn  you/'  she  said,  softly.  "I — I" 
— shuddering — "was  too  late  to  prevent — " 

"After  the  way  I—" 

She  raised  her  hand.  "Forget  it!  And  now  I 
must  go;  baby — wants  me." 

As  she  turned,  Glen  got  to  his  knees.  He  held 
out  his  hands,  but  the  obstinate  Scot-Cree  blood 
denied  him  speech.  Unseeing,  she  moved  towards 
the  door.  A  mighty  battle,  fiercer  than  the  thun 
dering  tempest,  raged  in  the  man's  soul.  The  old 
stubborn  spirit  fought  fiercely  and — lost.  Like  the 
breaking  of  a  flood,  a  suffocating  cry  burst  forth : 

"Forgive!" 

She  had  conquered,  and,  woman-like,  in  the  hour 
of  victory,  surrendered.  Returning,  she  bent  over 
and  laid  her  cheek  to  his,  but,  stooping  in  utter 
abasement,  Glen  bowed  down  and  kissed  her  feet. 


A  TALE  OF  THE  PASQUIA  POST 


A  TALE  OF  THE  PASQUIA  POST 

NORTH  of  line  fifty,  the  gloom  of  night  follows 
fast  on  the  trail  of  the  setting  sun.  The 
twilight  is  so  short  as  to  be  scarcely  deserving  of  the 
name,  and  it  therefore  behooves  the  traveller  to 
pitch  camp  while  there  is  yet  the  height  of  a  good 
tall  man  between  the  sun  and  the  horizon.  Let 
him  fail  in  this  and,  devoured  of  mosquitoes,  he 
shall  grope  in  the  dark  for  dry  wood  wherewith  to 
build  his  smudge. 

A  knowledge  of  this  all-important  fact  caused  the 
Factor  of  Felly  to  turn  sharply  in  his  saddle  when 
the  last  rays  of  the  sun  were  obscured  by  a  distant 
clump  of  poplars.  He,  with  old  Sandy  and  the 
Beaver,  was  crossing  the  stretch  of  lake  and  slough 
which  lies  between  the  base  of  the  Pasquia  Hills  and 
the  sleepy  waters  of  the  Carrot  River.  They  were 
a  good  six  days  north  of  Pelly — far  beyond  their 
usual  hunting-grounds  —  but  furs  had  not  been 

279 


THE   PROBATIONER 

coming  in  very  lively  of  late,  and  the  Commissioner 
at  Garry  was  a  dour  man  and  hard  to  please. 

"Where's  the  Beaver?"  the  Factor  asked,  in 
rather  sharp  tones.  "And  why  has  he  not  pitched 
camp?  We'll  be  eaten  alive,  and  that  without 
sauce,  in  less  than  ten  minutes  from  now." 

"I'm  thinkin',"  replied  the  trapper,  "that  the 
red  de'il's  pushed  awa'  ahead.  They  Obijays  we 
fell  in  wi'  three  days  syn'  tell't  him  a  muckle  o' 
queer  tales  o'  these  pairts.  An'  I'm  no  say  in',"  he 
added,  gazing  suspiciously  around,  "that  it's  no' 
a  fearsome  place." 

Fearsome  it  certainly  was.  The  weird  wailing  of 
a  solitary  loon  came  from  the  reeds  of  a  marshy 
slough  close  by,  the  night-wind  rustled  softly  through 
the  gloomy  spruce,  and  a  distant  owl  filled  the  air 
with  his  solemn  questioning. 

Pressing  forward  at  a  gallop,  they  soon  overtook 
the  Beaver.  The  great  wheels  of  the  Red  River 
cart  had  ceased  to  send  north  their  monotonous  com 
plaint — he  was  waiting  for  them. 

"What's  the  matter,  Beaver?  Why  haven't  you 
camped?"  The  cheery  tones  of  the  Factor's  voice 
echoed  and  re-echoed  through  the  dismal  swamps 
and  woods. 

"  No  like  to  camp.    Heap  bad  spirits  here.  Long 

280 


A   TALE    OF   THE   PASQUIA   POST 

time  ago,  heap  long  time,  big  mooniah  kill  plenty 
Injuns,  and  bad  Injuns  kill  him.  All  killed,  none 
left.  Injuns  no  like  to  come  here  any  more." 

"  Well,  push  on  and  camp  at  the  first  high  ground. 
Spirits  are  better  company  than  mosquitoes." 

The  creaking  cart  lumbered  on  into  the  gathering 
darkness.  Swarms  of  mosquitoes  rose  from  the 
long  grass,  sweeping  in  clouds  against  the  faces  of 
the  travellers,  settling  behind  their  ears,  and  biting 
viciously.  The  tortured  horses  frothed  at  the  mouth 
and  whinnied  their  vexation;  and  the  dogs  gave 
vent  to  human-like  exclamations  of  pain  and  misery, 
wiping  their  chops  with  their  paws.  And  thus  they 
moved  forward,  a  slapping,  snapping,  swearing 
procession  of  tormented  imperii tents. 

A  half-hour  of  purgatory  and  the  cart  came  to 
another  stop.  Before  it  loomed  a  large  obstacle, 
which  on  riding  forward  the  Factor  made  out  to  be 
some  large  building.  He  could  see  the  projecting 
gables  dimly  outlined  against  the  dark -gray  sky; 
no  smoke  arose  from  the  chimneys;  all  was  dark, 
solitary,  and  silent.  A  high  stockade,  from  within 
which  came  the  dank  smell  of  last  year's  rotting 
leaves,  surrounded  the  big  house:  not  a  light  showed, 
and  the  melancholy  creak  of  a  door  swinging  to  and 
fro  in  the  night-wind  was  the  only  answer  to  the 

281 


THE    PROBATIONER 

Factor's  halloa.  The  atmosphere  of  mystery  about 
the  place  affected  even  the  animals;  the  horses 
sniffed  the  air  suspiciously,  and  the  dogs  crept 
whining  between  the  legs  of  their  masters. 

"What  place  can  this  be?"  asked  the  Factor. 
"I  had  no  knowledge  of  any  house  in  these 
parts." 

"  It  maun  be  the  auld  post,"  answered  the  trapper. 
"Years  agone,  i'  the  time  o'  Factor  McKenzie,  the 
Company  had  an  outpost  i'  thees  direction;  but 
they'd  a  micht  o'  trouble  wi'  the  Injuns,  an'  drawed 
it  in.  I'd  a  thocht  it  wad  'a'  burnt  doon  lang  syn', 
but  there's  a  power  o'  lakes  an'  sloughs  aboot  here, 
an'  I  reckon  they  keepit  the  fires  awa'." 

"Well,  climb  over,  Sandy,  and  chop  off  that  bar. 
We  stay  here  to-night." 

"I'm  no  exactly  likin'  the  job.  The  place  has 
aye  an  uncanny  luik."  The  Scotchman  spoke  in 
uneasy  tones. 

"  Give  me  the  axe,  then.  We  stay  here  to-night, 
spirits  or  no  spirits." 

A  few  vigorous  strokes  of  the  axe,  and  the  great 
gates  fell  in  from  the  rotting  hinges.  The  dogs 
plunged  across  the  open  space  and  rushed  towards 
the  building,  barking  furiously.  A  hollow  echo  an 
swered  the  noisy  baying,  and  they  saw  within  the 

282 


A  TALE   OF   THE   PASQUIA   POST 

old  house  that  which  sent  them  back,  bristling  and 
uneasy,  to  the  Factor's  heels. 

The  superstitious  Indian  made  trembling  haste 
towards  the  getting-on  of  a  fire.  He  gathered  to 
gether  the  pieces  of  the  broken  gate,  and,  bringing 
forth  his  tinder-box,  nervously  chipped  away  with 
flint  and  steel.  A  spark  caught;  with  coaxing 
breath  he  gently  fanned  it  to  a  flame,  and  presently, 
the  blaze  shooting  upward,  brilliantly  illumined  the 
time-worn  front  of  the  old  store.  It  was  an  old 
Red  River  frame,  and  the  plaster  was  fallen  away 
from  the  cracks  between  the  logs,  leaving  it  the 
very  skeleton  of  a  building.  The  shutters  were  all 
gone,  and  the  black  spaces  looked  forth  like  ghostly 
eyes  from  the  scarred  front. 

The  Factor  pulled  a  blazing  brand  from  the  fire 
and  walked  over  to  the  open  door.  The  dogs 
whined  as  though  to  warn  him,  followed  him  for  a 
few  steps,  and  then  ran,  howling,  back  to  the  fire. 
He  stepped  within.  A  cry  of  horror  and  surprise 
burst  from  his  lips,  and  he  staggered  against  the 
advancing  Scotchman.  The  torch  dropped  from 
his  hand,  its  last  sputtering  sparks  intensifying 
the  black  darkness;  but  lit  up  by  nature's  secret 
alchemy,  all  shining  with  phosphorescence,  the  awful 
thing  remained  in  full  view. 

19  283 


THE   PROBATIONER 

Giving  vent  to  an  hysterical  "Gude  save  us!" 
the  trapper  shot  through  the  door  and  ran  for  the 
reassuring  blaze  of  the  fire.  But  the  Factor  was 
made  of  different  clay.  Ceaseless  conflict  with  iron 
forces  of  nature  and  incessant  strife  with  wild  beasts 
and  wilder  men  had  hardened  his  soul,  wherefore 
he  stood  his  ground  and  faced  the  thing.  The 
door  swung  to  behind  him  with  a  mournful  creak 
and  shut  him  in  with  the  dead.  He  was  sore  afraid, 
and  breathed  faster  than  his  wont,  yet  moved  not 
nor  gave  sign  of  the  inward  terror.  Small  wonder 
that  he  felt  the  touch  of  fear!  The  blighting 
philosophy  of  modernity,  which  destroys  the  hope 
of  man  while  fortifying  him  against  the  terrors  of  the 
imagination,  had  not  yet  laid  its  leprous  hand  on 
the  men  of  the  woods.  To  him  the  spirits  of  good 
and  evil  were  concrete  realities,  and,  for  aught  he 
knew,  the  thing  before  him  might  be  one  of  the 
myriad  shapes  of  the  Father  of  Sin. 

"Bring  a  light!" 

The  command  issued  from  firm -set  lips.  The 
trapper  would  willingly  have  disobeyed,  but  there 
was  in  the  voice  that  which  demanded  obedience. 
So,  fortifying  himself  with  a  couple  of  burning 
brands,  he  re-entered  the  building.  The  ruddy 
light  of  the  torches  penetrated  into  every  corner 

284 


A  TALE  OF  THE   PASQUIA   POST 

of  the  room,  falling  full  upon  the  thing  and  dis 
pelling  its  unearthly  radiance. 

It  was  the  skeleton  of  a  man  lying  beneath  the 
ladder  which  led  to  the  room  above.  Only  a  skele 
ton!  yet  surely  never  before  had  human  being  set 
eyes  on  such  a  frame.  The  curving  backbone  rose 
from  between  shoulder-blades  of  unusual  width, 
telling  the  story  of  an  immense  hump.  The  bones 
of  one  leg  were  shorter  than  those  of  the  other, 
the  hips  set  wide  apart,  and  the  legs  bowed  like 
those  of  a  gorilla.  The  entire  frame  was  massive 
and  strong,  and  marked  the  owner  as  having  been 
broad,  squat,  misshapen,  and  immensely  powerful. 
The  skull  was  that  of  an  Indian,  but  the  brow  rose 
high  above  the  eyeless  sockets,  denoting  an  in 
telligence  far  above  the  average  of  the  race;  yet  with 
this  unusual  development  were  associated  local 
peculiarities  which  indicated  the  basest  passions. 
Strangely  sinister  was  the  impression  conveyed  by 
this  last  poor  remnant  of  a  man,  so  marked,  indeed, 
as  to  strike  even  the  dull  perception  of  the 
trapper. 

"The  chiel  was  na'  verra  bonny,"  he  remarked, 
"  an'  it  wad  pay  a  man  weel  tae  keepit  a  twa  days' 
journey  frae  the  likes  o'  him.  An'  what's  thees?" 
He  had  stumbled  over  something  lying  on  the 

285 


THE   PROBATIONER 

floor.  "Gude  save  us!  eef  it  is  no'  an  auld  ledgy  o' 
the  Company's!" 

The  Factor  took  the  book  from  his  hand  and 
walked  over  to  the  firelight.  An  old  ledger  it 
surely  was,  bound  in  sheepskin  and  cornered  with 
brass.  The  entries  were  made  in  a  neat,  clerkly 
hand,  and  set  forth  the  amounts  of  goods  received, 
the  manner  of  their  disposal,  and  the  number  of 
bales  of  fur  despatched  to  Garry.  The  last  entry 
read: 

"  To  Silent  Man.  to  killing  that  thief  Esthahagan. 
1  Musket  and  2  Horns  of  Powder." 

The  faded  writing  carried  the  Factor  back  to 
those  old  times  of  trouble  and  bloodshed,  and  the 
persons  mentioned  passed  before  him  in  a  long 
phantasmagoria.  He  mused  quietly  over  the  yellow 
pages  and  speculated  as  to  their  lives  and  deaths. 
M' Garry,  the  recording  clerk,  he  knew  became 
Commissioner  of  Garry,  and  died  full  of  years  and 
honor.  But  what  of  these  others,  whose  little 
lives  were  just  as  important  in  their  own  eyes  and 
those  of  God?  They  also  had  departed  and  were 
as  the  last  year's  grass. 

But  what  is  this  entry  on  a  new  page,  written 
in  a  great,  sprawling  hand?  M'Garry's  trim  goose- 
quill  never  fashioned  that  splashing  scrawl.  A 

286 


A   TALE   OF   THE   PASQUIA   POST 

sharpened  stick,  dipped  in  soot  and  grease  and 
wielded  by  a  heavy  hand,  alone  could  have  produced 
it.  The  Factor  lowered  his  head  over  the  page 
and  read  on: 

"And  I,  John  West,  called  by  the  men  of  the  Company 
Strong  John,  because  of  my  thews  and  sinews,  being  at 
the  point  of  death,  write  this,  that  the  men  of  my  race  may 
beware  them  of  the  magic  of  To-wo-bat,  the  devil  doctor. 
For  I  see,  with  the  clear  eyes  of  the  dying,  that  my  people 
shall  yet  inherit  this  land.  From  the  towns  and  cities 
will  they  come,  from  the  hamlets  and  the  plains;  first  by 
twos  and  threes,  as  do  the  ducks  in  the  springtime,  then 
by  dozens,  and  lastly  by  swarms,  so  that  they  shall  multiply 
and  cover  the  land.  And  in  those  days,  To-wo-bat  and  his 
wicked  ones  shall  vanish  from  before  them,  as  the  rabbite 
from  before  the  foxes,  and  the  place  where  they  were  shall 
know  them  no  more.  Yet,  lest  he  prevail  against  them 
while  they  are  still  few,  will  I  set  down,  though  with  pain 
and  labor,  the  things  I  have  seen. 

"Because  of  my  great  strength,  which  hath  alway 
urged  me  on  to  rash  emprise,  hath  this  trouble  come  upon 
me.  Alack,  that  men  should  have  envied  me  that  which 
hath  been  my  undoing!  But  for  mine  most  unhealthy 
stoutness,  I  might  yet  have  been  tilling  the  wolds  of  old 
Devon.  Thus  it  fell  about: 

"  When  but  a  lad,  not  knowing  the  strength  that  was  in 
me,  I  was  set  upon,  returning  from  market,  by  two  stout 
rogues.  They  sought  the  silver,  the  price  of  a  drove  of  cat 
tle,  and  I,  thinking  to  teach  them  manners  of  a  better  sort, 
buffeted  them  soundly  with  my  hands.  Alack  for  my  un 
happy  strength!  Their  bones  were  all  broken  within  them, 
so  that  they  fell  to  the  ground  and  died.  And  I,  being  in 

287 


THE   PROBATIONER 

fear  of  the  law,  fled  to  a  seaport  and  took  ship  for  Canada. 
But  these  things  are  past  and  gone,  and  I  must  on  with 
my  tale,  for  out  in  the  woods  To-wo-bat  dances  the  death- 
dance  in  the  blaze  of  his  red  fire,  waiting  for  me,  even  as  the 
snapping  wolf  waits  for  the  wounded  bull.  All  of  his 
warriors  have  I  slain,  and,  if  he  but  come  before  my  waning 
strength  is  sped,  him  too  will  I  send  after  them." 

"Sandy,"  said  the  Factor,  glancing  up  from  the 
book,  "did  you  ever  hear  of  one  John  West?" 

"John  West  —  John  West!  Why,  tae  be  sure, 
I've  heerd  tell  o'  the  man.  He  was  Factor  o' 
Elphinstone.  Strong  John,  they  caed  him,  for  he 
was  main  strong  o'  his  hands.  They  said  he  went 
clean  daft  ower  a  half-breed  squaw,  and  gaed  amiss- 
ing  just  afore  the  Company  drawed  in  the  Pasquia 
Post." 

"Listen  to  this,  then: 

"Zaar  I  sent  from  me  under  the  cover  of  last  night,  that 
she  fall  not  again  into  the  lecherous  hands  of  To-wo-bat. 
'Let  me  stay,  that  I  may  die  with  thee/  she  pleaded,  not 
knowing  that  men  kill  not  the  desire  of  their  eyes.  But  I 
was  firm,  and  instructed  her  in  the  trail  to  Pelly,  and  gave 
her  wise  counsel  that  she  marry  a  man  of  the  Company. 
For  she  is  fair  to  look  upon  and  would  be  the  better  of  a 
husband.  And  she,  weeping,  promised  faithfully  to  obey 
my  behests,  wherein  she  set  a  pattern  to  women  of  whiter 
skins;  though,  alack!  the  flesh  is  weak,  and  a  little  less 
obedience  in  this  matter  would  have  been  more  pleasing. 

"I  remember  well  the  day  I  first  set  eyes  upon  her — an 
288 


A   TALE   OF   THE   PASQUIA   POST 

evil  one  for  Red  Mike,  the  Irish  trapper.  He  had  marked 
her  for  his  own,  and  I  came  upon  them  as  he  sought  to  drag 
her  into  the  forest.  Full  thirty  paces  I  sent  him  flying 
through  the  air,  so  said  the  men  that  took  him  up,  and  his 
neck  was  broken  so  that  he  troubled  the  maidens  no  more. 
And  I  looked  into  the  eyes  of  the  girl  that  day  and  knew 
my  mate. 

"That  night  I  sought  the  tepee  of  the  old  squaw,  her 
mother,  and  bought  the  girl  with  a  great  store  of  mer 
chandise.  And  I  would  have  ta'en  her  to  my  house,  and 
Zaar  was  willing.  But  the  old  crone  would  none  of  it;  she 
must  needs  first  handle  the  goods. 

"  Oh,  that  I  had  known  it !  Without  the  tepee,  his  prick- 
ears  cocked  to  the  listening,  lay  the  twisted  devil  To-wo-bat. 

"The  next  morning  I  loaded  a  Red  River  cart  with  the 
merchandise,  the  price  of  the  girl,  and  made  my  way, 
whistling  a  merry  tune,  to  the  tent  of  the  old  woman.  It 
was  gone!  Of  the  twenty  tepees  standing  there  the  night 
before  not  one  was  left. 

"I  will  say  naught  of  the  hell  that  raged  within  me  at 
the  sight,  nor  of  the  three  days'  tracking  without  stop  for 
bite  or  sup;  for  To-wo-bat  burns  his  red  fire  in  the  woods, 
and  the  weakness  gains  upon  me.  It  suffices  that  on  the 
third  day  I  came  upon  them  in  the  Riding  Mountains. 

"  It  was  nightfall  when  I  first  saw  through  the  spruce  the 
light  of  the  lodge-fires.  The  drums  I  had  heard  long  before, 
and  I  knew  that  something  of  importance  was  afoot. 
Creeping  on  the  flat  of  my  belly,  I  made  my  way  to  a  place 
in  the  brush  close  to  the  tepees.  It  was  almost  dark,  but 
a  roaring  fire  sent  its  flames  crackling  on  high,  brilliantly 
lighting  up  the  camp.  Now  shall  I  tell  of  the  devil-dance 
going  on  around  it. 

Some  twenty  Indians,  stark  naked,  with  bodies  painted 
black  and  striped  with  white,  so  that  they  looked  death- 

289 


THE    PROBATIONER 

heads,  moved  rapidly  round  a  post  that  was  set  up  close  to 
the  fire.  Their  eyes  glittered  with  unholy  light  and  they 
uttered  hideous  yells  and  screams.  Long  ropes  of  hide 
were  passed  through  slits  in  the  skin  of  their  breasts,  some 
what  after  the  fashion  in  which  a  yeoman  strings  his  bacon 
for  the  hanging,  and  as  each  danced  he  threw  himself 
backward,  striving  to  tear  away.  When  one  succeeded  he 
ran  amuck  through  the  crowd  of  watching  squaws,  biting 
pieces  out  of  the  bodies  of  those  he  met.  At  the  foot  of  the 
great  pole  stood  the  chief  devil  of  them  all.  He  was  a  man 
of  mighty  thews  and  sinews,  broad  and  squat,  and  a  great 
hump  rose  from  between  his  shoulders.  One  leg  was 
shorter  than  the  other  and  he  limped  as  he  danced.  His 
face  was  painted  of  a  different  fashion — bright  red,  barred 
with  black;  the  body,  a  ghastly  white.  A  towering  head 
dress  of  black  feathers  rose  above  him,  from  which  I  judged 
him  to  be  a  man  high  in  authority.  One  strange  thing,  too, 
I  noticed  about  this  man — there  seemed  to  be  method  in  his 
madness.  For  all  his  frenzy,  he  kept  a  sharp  eye  around 
him  and  saw  everything  that  was  going  on.  On  occasion 
he  stretched  his  hand  forth  over  the  fire  and  it  would  leap 
up  flaming  red. 

"While  noting  these  things,  I  looked  for  Zaar  among  the 
squaws,  but  saw  her  not;  nor  was  she  to  be  seen  moving 
among  the  tepees. 

"One  after  the  other  the  young  bucks  tore  themselves 
away  until  but  one  was  left,  and  he,  from  insufficient  weight, 
could  not  break  free.  Him,  the  devil  doctor — for  it  was 
To-wo-bat — thrust  backward  with  a  mighty  shove,  and  set 
him  loose.  Then,  with  a  grewsome  shout,  the  hell's  crew 
ran  shrieking  through  the  village.  He  of  the  feathers 
watched  them  go,  and  then  hobbled  to  a  tepee  close  at  hand. 
I  watched  him  enter. 

"A  woman's  scream!  I  jumped  to  my  feet,  unmindful 
290 


A   TALE   OF   THE   PASQUTA   POST 

of  the  watching  crowd,  for  Zaar  came  flying  from  the  tent, 
all  bleeding  from  the  arm.  She  was  coming  in  my  direction, 
the  devil  doctor  following  fast  and  gaining  on  her.  Never 
before  did  cripple  run  so  fast  as  this  man.  He  had  reached 
out  his  hand  to  seize  her,  seeing  me  not,  when  I  took  him 
round  the  waist.  Great  God,  how  strong  he  was!  Never 
before  had  man  been  able  to  stand  before  Strong  John,  yet 
for  fully  half  a  minute  the  rogue  bothered  me.  Then  I 
smote  him  so  that  he  lay  quiet. 

"And  now  should  I,  as  a  wise  man,  and  as  one  holding  a 
position  of  responsibility  of  the  Company,  have  withdrawn 
with  the  girl;  but  her  blood  was  in  my  nostrils,  and  I 
forthwith  fell  raging  on  the  young  men.  In  my  hands  was 
the  limb  of  a  tree  of  the  thickness  of  a  man's  arm;  and  with 
this  I  slew  ten  of  them,  nor  smote  one  man  twice.  And 
presently  the  remnant,  being  tired  of  the  game,  fled  to  the 
woods,  leaving  me  master  of  the  camp. 

"Six  days  we  travelled  to  the  northward,  thinking  they 
would  seek  us  towards  Elphinstone.  When  Zaar  was  tired, 
I  took  her  up  in  my  great  arms,  and  so  went  forward,  her 
arms  around  my  neck,  my  face  laid  against  her  heaving 
bosom.  And  in  this  wise  we  made  for  the  Pasquia  Post, 
expecting  to  find  there  M'Garry  and  his  men.  As  we  jour 
neyed,  her  rounded  limbs  resting  lightly  across  my  arms, 
she  told  me  of  her  father,  the  Jesuit  priest  who  forgot  his 
vows.  'For  my  mother  was  beautiful  in  those  days/ 
said  she,  'though  now  old  and  ill-favored.  And  wilt  thou 
love  me  still,  when  I,  too,  am  old  and  ugly?'  And  she  told 
me  also  of  the  witcheries  of  To-wo-bat.  How  he  had  her  in 
mind  for  a  long  time,  and  but  waited  for  her  ripening; 
how  he  waved  his  hand  over  her  mother's  fire  the  night  I 
bought  her,  so  that  it  leaped  up  flaming  red;  and  of  the 
spells  and  incantations  which  so  wrought  upon  the  old 
woman  that,  though  loath  to  leave  the  merchandise,  she 

291 


THE   PROBATIONER 

folded  her  tent  and  departed  in  the  night.  Also,  she  told 
me  of  his  cruelties  and  wickedness,  the  like  of  which  man 
never  heard  before.  'But  thou  wilt  not  let  him  have  me?' 
she  finished,  lowering  her  head  and  looking  into  my  eyes. 
And  I,  swearing  a  great  oath,  pacified  her. 

"At  night  we  lay  beneath  the  spruce,  her  head  pillowed 
on  my  arm,  her  sweet  breath  gently  stirring  the  hair  on  my 
brow;  and  sometimes,  when  lying  thus,  I  lay  awake  thinking 
of  the  great  happiness  this  savage  maid  had  brought  me. 
It  was  in  one  of  these  wakeful  spells  that  I  saw  the  red  blaze 
of  To-wo-bat's  fire  far  off  in  the  forest,  and  knew  that  he 
was  not  dead.  And  because  of  this  the  next  day  I  bestowed 
Zaar  safely  in  a  covert,  she  sore  afraid  for  me,  and  I  lay  in 
ambush  for  To-wo-bat  and  his  men.  They  came,  but  the 
arch-fiend  lagged  behind.  Ten  of  them  passed  me  by,  and 
but  three  returned  to  tell  of  the  manner  of  the  going  of  the 
others.  Right  valiantly  they  fought,  as  became  better 
men  in  a  more  righteous  quarrel,  and  they  sorely  wounded 
me  before  I  despatched  them ;  so  that  I  was  in  great  pain 
and  could  no  more  carry  Zaar.  This  troubled  me  much, 
but  she  was  of  good  cheer  because  I  was  spared  to  her,  and 
bound  up  my  wounds  and  said — brave  girl! — that  she 
loved  walking.  And  thus  on  the  third  day  after  the  ftght 
we  came  to  Pasquia. 

"Alack!  M'Garry  and  his  men  were  gone.  Not  for 
myself  did  I  care,  but  for  the  girl,  whom  I  had  hoped  to 
bestow  safely  until  such  time  as  we  could  safely  return  to 
Elphinstone.  But  she  took  it  in  good  heart,  saying  that 
we  should  rest  here  until  I  was  healed  of  my  wound,  and 
then  we  would  make  for  Pelly,  where  the  good  men  of  the 
Company  lived. 

"Were  all  the  men  in  the  Company  as  good  as  I?  she 
asked,  having  in  her  great  love  forgotten  Red  Mike,  the 
Irish  trapper.  And  was  it  true  that  we  loved  our  wives 

292 


A  TALE   OF   THE   PASQUIA   POST 

after  they  had  become  old  and  hard-featured?  She  had 
heard,  too,  that  when  a  woman  was  old,  and  could  work 
no  more,  it  was  not  the  fashion  of  the  white  man  to  leave 
her  on  the  cold  trail  for  the  wolves  to  make  an  end  of. 
Was  this  so?  And  I  swore,  with  another  great  oath,  that 
the  thing  was  truly  said,  as  was  most  certainly  the  latter 
half.  Yea—" 

The  narrative  stopped.  A  puff  of  wind  swayed 
the  branches  of  the  gloomy  forest.  The  young 
moon,  rising  above  the  horizon,  shed  a  red  light 
through  the  trees,  and,  glancing  quickly  up,  the 
Factor  could  have  sworn  it  was  the  red  fire  of  To-wo- 
bat.  The  air  was  chilly,  and  he  shivered. 

"It's  no  feenished?"  interrogated  the  trapper. 

"Seems  to  be.  No;  here  it  starts  again  on  the 
next  page. 

"Last  night  I  thought  I  should  write  no  more  in  the 
book.  I  was  in  great  pain,  and  crawled  to  a  chink  in  the 
wall,  through  which  I  might  see  the  fire  of  To-wo-bat.  It 
burned  brightly  and  was  come  closer;  wherefore  I  know 
mine  hour  approaches.  In  the  night  I  dreamt  of  Zaar.  I 
thought  she  leaned  over  me,  as  a  mother  above  her  child, 
but  when  I  put  forth  my  hand  she  was  gone,  and  I  knew 
it  was  a  dream.  But  I  must  hurry,  for  the  gangrene  hath 
laid  a  hold  of  my  wounds  and  at  times  I  grow  light-headed. 

"  The  second  night  of  our  stay  at  Pasquia  I  was  ta'en  of  a 
high  fever  and  at  times  wandered,  knowing  not  even  Zaar. 
And  at  midnight  there  came  creeping  into  the  fort  the 
three  that  had  escaped  me.  Zaar  called  to  me,  but  I 

293 


THE   PROBATIONER 

babbled  on  with  my  maunderings,  knowing  them  not  for 
enemies  until  they  hacked  me  with  their  knives.  The 
blade  of  one  sank  deep  into  my  arm.  Whether  it  was  the 
blood-letting  or  the  sight  of  Zaar  in  the  grasp  of  another  I 
know  not;  she  had  sought  to  throw  herself  between  them 
and  me,  and  in  the  struggle  her  robe  was  torn  from  her. 
But  none  lived  to  tell  of  her  loveliness.  The  head  of  one  I 
shattered  with  my  fist;  the  second  I  took  up  by  the  feet, 
and,  using  him  clubwise,  killed  the  third.  This  last  rogue 
told  us  before  he  died  that  To-wo-bat  lingered  out  in  the 
woods,  having  no  stomach  for  a  second  encounter.  They 
also  had  no  liking  for  the  work,  but  he  made  great  in 
cantation  before  them,  and  showed  them  a  black  glass 
wherein  they  could  see  me  lying  sore  and  helpless;  and  thus 
encouraged,  they  came  on. 

"  There  remains  little  to  tell.  Zaar — something  moves 
below—" 

"Take  a  light,  Sandy.  I  must  see  what  is  up 
stairs  in  the  old  house." 

The  trapper  pulled  a  couple  of  blazing  brands 
from  the  fire  and  followed  the  Factor  towards  the 
old  store.  The  night-wind  rustled  gently  through 
the  trees,  sighing  a  peaceful  requiem;  the  door 
swung  to  and  fro,  uttering  its  melancholy  groan, 
and  in  the  far  distance  a  wandering  coyote  raised 
his  mournful  howl.  The  dank  smell  of  the  rotting 
leaves  rose  in  the  nostrils;  all  was  laden  with  the 
odors  of  decay  and  death. 

"How  did  this  man  come  by  his  death?"  The 
294 


A   TALE   or   THE   PASQUIA   POST 

Factor  stooped  over  the  grotesque  frame  of  To-wo- 
bat  and  examined  it  carefully.  In  the  back  of  the 
skull  stuck  a  triangular  piece  of  rusted  steel. 

"  Look  here,  Sandy.  He  was  killed  as  he  mount 
ed  the  ladder." 

"I  reckon  that  wee  bit  of  iron  cam'  from  thees?" 
He  held  up  a  rusted  hatchet,  the  top  corner  of  which 
was  missing. 

"An'  'twas  but  a  'prentice  hand  that  strake  the 
blow/'  he  added,  as  they  climbed  the  ladder. 

The  light  of  the  torches  flashed  to  the  far  corners 
of  the  old  garret.  There,  to  the  right,  lay  that 
which  they  had  come  to  see — the  last  remnant  of 
the  stout  Factor  of  Elphinstone,  and  beside  him, 
her  arms  about  the  body  of  the  man  she  loved,  Zaar. 

The  Factor  uncovered  his  head,  and  stood  silently 
musing  beside  the  dead.  The  voice  of  the  trapper 
broke  in  upon  his  meditations. 

"She  was  no'  sa  obedient  as  he  thocht  for. 
Weemen  are  kittle  cattle;  there's  nae  tellin'  what 
rig  they're  up  till.  An'  I'm  no'  sayin',"  he  added, 
"but  that's  what  maks  us  luve  them." 


MATTY'S  OHEISTMAS  PRESENT 


MATTY'S  CHRISTMAS  PRESENT 


FROZEN  drift  levelled  the  twin  ruts  of  Bad 
Man's  Trail,  making  heavy  going  for  the  sheriff 
of  Williamette.  Here,  against  the  Canada  line,  the 
trail  traversed  a  bleak  country,  devoid  of  settle 
ment,  counting  thirty  miles  between  solitary  road- 
houses.  It  was  always  lonely,  a  peculiar  highway, 
the  counterpart  of  the  paths  which,  of  old,  led  hot 
feet  to  sanctuary. 

Roughly  limned,  it  zigzagged  out  of  North  Da 
kota,  cut  a  wide  angle  in  Montana,  then  jumped  the 
Canada  line  to  lose  itself  in  the  heart  of  Assiniboia. 
But  such  lineal  statement  contains  no  hint  of  the 
weirdness  of  that  wide  traverse — the  silences  of  the 
Lonesome  Prairies;  the  sand,  rock,  and  coulees  of 
the  Bad  Lands;  the  muskegs  of  the  marsh-grass 
regions;  the  twistings  in  the  Scratching  Hills,  de- 

ao  299 


THE   PROBATIONER 

vious  enough  to  suit  most  of  the  trail's  travel, 
which  rode  with  an  eye  open  for  a  possible  sheriff. 
For  as  yet  extradition  was  little  more  than  a  name 
on  the  border,  and  the  trail  took  its  name  from 
the  "rustlers,"  horse- thieves,  and  forgers  who  rode 
its  lonely  lengths. 

But,  lacking  a  good  extradition  treaty,  Yankee 
sheriffs  and  the  Northwest  Mounted  Police  pooled 
interests,  keeping  an  eye  to  each  other's  quarries. 
It  was  information  from  the  other  side  that  had 
brought  the  sheriff  of  Williamette  a  three -days' 
drive  from  home  in  Montana.  The  telegram  said: 

"  Look  out  for  Bill  Walton.  Left  Wood  Mountain  two 
days  ago.  Heading  south  for  Bad  Man's.  Remember  me 
when  you  draw  down  that  thousand." 

Bill  Walton  was  a  cow-puncher  of  the  Lazy  Q 
outfit,  who  had  invited  his  fellows  to  dine  with  the 
general  manager  of  a  transcontinental  road.  The 
invitation  had  come  in  this  wise: 

Having  eaten  something  that  disagreed  with  him, 
the  manager,  a  dyspeptic  Easterner,  stopped  his 
train  at  a  small  station  where  the  Lazy  Q  was  en 
training  cattle,  to  relieve  his  feelings  by  "jerking 
up"  the  agent.  But  the  agent  was  popular  with 
the  Lazy  Q.  A  heavy  hand  suddenly  dropped  on 

300 


MATTY'S   CHRISTMAS   PRESENT 

the  magnate's  back,  driving  the  breath  from  his 
body,  while  a  hoarse  voice  familiarly  accosted  him. 

"  You're  looking  real  well,  Sammy.  We  got  your 
telegram,  an'  we'll  be  right  glad  to  take  dinner  with 
you,  me  an'  my  friends!" 

The  magnate  did  not  remember  the  invitation,  but, 
outwardly  meek  and  inwardly  raging,  he  sat  for  two 
long  hours  and  watched  the  Lazy  Q  prop  dusty  heels 
on  his  white  napery  while  it  swilled  his  costly  wines. 

"You're  a  wolf,  Sammy,"  Walton  said,  at  part 
ing.  "Come  out  to  the  range  some  day  an'  howl 
with  us.  An'  whensoever  you're  feeling  dry  going 
through  this  burg,  jest  dismount  an'  chalk  up  three 
fingers  to  Bill  Walton." 

The  outfit's  parting  volley  brought  down  five 
hundred  dollars'  worth  of  glass  and  costly  fixtures, 
and  here,  in  the  old  days,  the  incident  would  have 
closed.  But  in  Montana  mining  and  commercial 
interests  were  beginning  to  overshadow  the  cattle 
business.  Traders  and  miners  had  long  been  clam 
oring  for  law  and  order,  and  now,  owing  to  his 
loquacity  in  the  matter  of  names,  the  storm  cen 
tred  on  Bill.  Out  of  his  own  pocket  the  magnate 
offered  a  reward  of  a  thousand  dollars  for  his  ar 
rest;  and  so,  like  the  scapegoat  of  old,  he  bore  his 
sins  and  those  of  the  Lazy  Q  over  the  border. 

301 


THE   PROBATIONER 

Wood  Mountain,  where  the  sharp-eyed  Canadian 
policeman  had  recognized  the  cow-puncher,  lay  a 
day's  ride  north  of  the  border,  and  the  sheriff  had  ex 
pected  to  intercept  his  man  on  his  second  day  out ; 
but  this  was  the  evening  of  the  third,  and  another 
hour  would  bring  him  to  his  destination,  a  roadr 
house  on  the  border — a  stopping-place  of  doubtful 
reputation,  built  astraddle  the  line,  so  that  a  man 
might  roll  from  one  country  into  the  other  and 
evade  arrest  with  a  minimum  of  disturbance  to  his 
slumbers. 

Dusk,  chill  and  mysterious,  shrouded  the  vast 
snowscape  while  he  was  still  driving,  and  a  huge 
moon  sailed  up  from  behind  a  spectral  butte,  the 
ghost  of  a  hill.  By  its  light  the  sheriff  saw  the 
road-house,  a  low  sod  building,  rise  like  a  ragged 
reef  from  white,  wintry  billows.  In  the  moon  ra 
diance  it  looked  like  an  enormous  reptile,  some  huge 
amphibian  at  re  t  on  the  bosom  of  a  weird  planet 
ary  sea;  nor  was  the  resemblance  destroyed  when, 
at  the  sheriff's  knock,  the  door  opened  like  a  huge 
black  mouth  and  vomited  the  keeper 

Recognizing  his  visitor,  the  man,  a  black-browed 
French  Canadian,  vouchsafed  the  effusive  welcome 
which  was  born  of  the  knowledge  that  his  house 
was  empty.  Also  he  entered  voluble  denials  when 

302 


MATTY'S   CHRISTMAS   PRESENT 

the  sheriff  inquired  for  Walton,  saying  that  he  had 
had  no  stoppers  for  more  than  a  week. 

"Well,"  the  sheriff  commented,  as  the  other  took 
his  horse,  "if  he  doesn't  come  to-morrow  I'll  strike 
for  home,  for  I  promised  the  girls  sure  that  I'd  be 
back  for  Christmas.  But  let's  have  no  tricks,  Louis 
— spurs  on  the  threshold,  or  that  sort  of  thing!" 

"M'sieu?"  the  man  exclaimed. 

Grinning  at  his  injured  innocence,  the  sheriff 
stepped  in-doors,  where  the  keeper's  wife,  a  slattern 
ly  half-breed  woman,  was  already  at  work  on  his 
supper.  While  he  was  eating  the  keeper  came  in, 
remarking,  as  he  hung  up  his  lantern,  that  the  moon 
was  clouded  over  and  that  it  would  storm  before 
morning. 

Midnight  brought  fulfilment  of  his  prophecy.  It 
was  a  mighty  wind.  It  poured  over  the  road-house, 
forcing  jets  of  snow,  fine  as  steam,  in  through  every 
cranny.  Awaking,  the  sheriff  found  himself  sleep 
ing  under  a  drift,  and  after  one  glance  out  at  the 
wild  flurries  he  concluded  not  to  travel  that  day. 

But  noon  brought  him  a  change  of  mind.  He 
came  hurrying  through  the  drift  from  the  stable, 
where  he  had  gone  to  curry  his  horse,  and  thrust 
his  open  hand  beneath  the  keeper's  nose.  On  his 
palm  lay  a  locket,  a  gilt  bauble  such  as  swings  at  the 

303 


THE   PROBATIONER 

end  of  a  fob.  It  was  open,  and  from  one  of  its  sides 
the  face  of  a  girl,  pretty  in  a  coarse  way,  looked  up 
at  the  keeper;  on  the  other  was  graven  the  name 
of  a  man  who  was  wanted  in  three  States  for  train- 
robbery. 

"Picked  this  up  in  the  straw  behind  my  horse." 
The  sheriff  grimly  eyed  the  other.  "Right  where 
it  fell  when  Bat  Masters  yanked  it  off  in  cinching  up 
his  saddle.  You  toP  me  there'd  been  no  travel  on 
this  trail  in  a  week.  How  many  brands  o'  lies  do 
you  deal  in,  Louis?" 

Shrugging,  the  man  stared  at  the  locket  with 
sombre  eyes. 

"Before  now  I  have  given  you  the  news  of  the 
trail,  m'sieu — is  it  not  so?"  he  questioned,  hoarsely. 
"But  with  this  man  it  is  different.  A  cry  is  soon 
lost  on  the  prairies,  an'  what  protection  have  we  of 
the  law?  We  have  not  forgotten  Blind  Antoine, 
who  was  staked  out  hand  an'  foot  in  the  path  of  the 
red  ants.  He  lives  longest  who  talks  least.  We 
do  not  desire  crawling  deaths." 

"Well!"  The  sheriff  pocketed  the  locket.  "It 
will  pay  you  to  talk  now.  Hit  it  up,  talk  off  your 
record,  an'  mebbe  I'll  forget  where  I  found  this." 

The  half -promise  brought  the  words  bubbling. 
The  man  had  come  to  them  two  days  before,  had 

304 


MATTY'S   CHRISTMAS   PRESENT 

stayed  the  night,  then  taken  the  cross-trail  to  the 
west.  Yes,  he  had  talked.  All  summer  he  had 
fought  with  Louis  Riel  against  the  red-coated 
soldiery,  but,  now  that  the  Metis  were  gone  back 
to  government  blankets  and  bacon,  the  Canadian 
north  was  as  dull  as  a  Methodist  church.  This  he 
had  said,  swearing  that  he  preferred  an  American 
gallows  to  Canada  and  prohibition.  He  was  des 
perate,  savage,  what  of  his  hard  life,  and  he  had 
spoken  most  bitterly  of  m'sieu  the  sheriff,  the  man 
who  had  shot  his  brother  and  broken  up  his  gang. 

"Wild  as  a  crazed  lynx,  he  is,  m'sieu,"  the  man 
finished.  "  He  cares  now  for  nothing  but  revenge. 
'He  will  not  need  to  look  for  me,  this  sheriff,'  he 
says.  Til  strike  him  where  he  lives!'  " 

Fit  strike  you  where  you  live !  The  sheriff  remem 
bered  the  phrase  in  a  rough  scrawl  which  had  come 
by  mail  after  his  big  coup.  He  had  smiled  at  the 
time,  deeming  the  threat  as  idle  as  many  that  had 
been  made  against  him  under  the  smart  of  wounds 
and  defeat;  but  now,  as  he  thought  of  his  two  mother 
less  girls  alone  on  his  ranch,  the  words  took  on 
sinister  significance. 

"My  God,  man!  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  this 
last  night?"  he  exclaimed,  as  he  rushed  out  of  the 
house. 

305 


THE    PROBATIONER 


II 


ON  the  evening  of  that  same  day  a  solitary  horse 
man  reined  in  his  beast  while  he  stared  at  a  group 
of  buildings  which  had  suddenly  loomed  out  of  the 
drift  ahead.  Three  hours  ago  the  last  vestige  of 
trail  had  been  blown  from  the  face  of  the  earth, 
and  since  then  he  had  been  steering  by  the  uncer 
tain  wind. 

"  Story-an'-a-half  log  house,  mud  stables/'  he 
muttered,  in  satisfied  tones.  "That's  Lanky's 
road-house,  shore.  Billy  Walton,  you're  in  luck! 
Hadn't  no  right  to  expect  to  make  it  so  easy.  Put 
up  your  hoss,  son,  an'  go  to  supper!"  Without 
more  ado,  he  rode  up  to  the  stables  and  put  in 
after  the  free  fashion  of  the  country. 

But  the  youth  who  presently  banged  the  house 
door  did  not  wear  Lanky  McDonald's  red  beard. 
He  was  a  handsome  lad,  clear-skinned,  violet-eyed; 
and,  instead  of  flapping  loosely,  his  fringed  moose- 
skins  were  cut  to  his  figure.  From  cap  to  small 
moccasins  he  was  girlishly  neat,  and  his  voice,  when 
he  greeted  the  cow-puncher  from  the  stable  door, 
proved  still  unbroken. 

The  treble,  so  unlike  Red  Lanky's  rusty  bass, 
306 


MATTY'S   CHRISTMAS   PRESENT 

startled  the  cow-puncher.  Dropping  the  wisp  with 
which  he  was  rubbing  down  his  beast,  he  whirled, 
gun  in  hand;  but  his  arm  dropped  as  the  youth  ut 
tered  a  small  scream. 

"Why,  dinged  if  it  ain't  a  woman!  Pardon  me — 
miss!"  He  classified  her  according  to  her  youthful 
appearance.  "I  didn't  go  to  scare  you.  If  you 
hadn't  come  so  quietly,  or  hadn't  been  wearing — do 
you  always — "  There  was  an  embarrassed  pause'. 

Though  intuitively  sensing  that  the  question  was 
merely  the  product  of  his  embarrassment,  the  girl 
properly  ignored  it. 

"What  are  you  doing  here?"  she  demanded. 

"  I  mistook  this  for" — he  had  almost  said  Lanky 's 
road-house,  but  he  remembered  in  time  the  un 
enviable  reputation  of  the  place — "  a  road-house  on 
the  Dakota  line." 

" On  the  Dakota  line?"  she  shrilly  echoed.  "Why, 
that  is  thirty  miles  away!  You  are  in  the  middle  of 
Williamette  County;  only  four  miles  out  from  the 
town." 

The  cow-puncher  experienced  a  sudden  sinking. 
He  had  spent  the  day  skirting  the  borders  of  the 
said  county  only  to  find  himself  in  its  centre!  It 
was,  of  course,  a  common  hap.  He  himself  had 
known  men  to  knock  on  their  own  doors  to  inquire 

307 


THE   PROBATIONER 

the  way  in  a  blizzard,  but  he  had  never  expected 
to  be  so  fooled  himself.  A  touch  of  shame  mixed 
with  his  alarm.  It  was  chore- time,  and  any  mo 
ment  might  bring  the  men-folks  from  the  house. 

"Begging  your  pardon,  miss,"  he  said,  reaching 
for  his  bridle ;  "  an'  seeing  that  I've  made  a  mistake, 
I'll  jest  move  on." 

But  already  the  violet  eyes  had  taken  his  inven 
tory,  and  discovered  the  humorous  mouth  and 
frank  gaze. 

"Go  out  in  this  storm,  and  night  coming  on?" 
she  exclaimed.  "The  idea!  If  dad  was  here  he'd 
pound  you  for  suggesting  such  a  thing!" 

The  cow-puncher  breathed  a  little  easier. 

"But  your  brothers?"  he  objected,  angling  for 
information.  "I  wouldn't  want  to  take  up  their 
stable-room." 

"Haven't  any  brothers." 

"No?  Who  does  your  chores?"  She  was  plump, 
pretty,  delicate,  and  well  nurtured,  unlike  the  labor- 
thickened  women  of  the  ranches. 

"I  do  when  dad's  away,  but  there's  not  many. 
We  don't  farm  much,  just  put  up  hay  enough  for 
bed  and  feed.  An'  that  reminds  me — if  you'll  do 
up  the  horses,  I'll  run  in  and  get  on  supper.  The 
pump's  round  the  corner,  and  you'll  find  oats  in 

308 


MATTY'S   CHRISTMAS   PRESENT 

that  box.  Give  four  quarts  to  the  roan,  three  to  the 
others,  and — come  in  when  you're  through." 

She  had  gradually  withdrawn  her  person  till 
nothing  but  her  head  projected  around  the  door- 
jamb,  and  now  it  also  vanished,  leaving  him  stand 
ing. 

He  was  a  bashful  as  well  as  a  modest  man,  and 
the  thought  of  spending  an  evening  tete-a-tete  with 
this  self-possessed  young  woman  set  him  perspiring. 
He  had  thoughts  of  saddling  and  stealing  away,  but 
this  was  offset  by  an  irresistible  desire  to  see  the 
girl  again.  On  entering  the  house,  however,  his 
fear  of  censure  from  Mrs.  Grundy  was  set  at  rest, 
for  a  small  girl  of  eleven  met  him  at  the  door,  took 
his  cap  and  mittens,  and  seated  him  in  the  corner 
by  the  stove,  preserving  the  while  the  dignity 
of  fifty.  The  cow-puncher  felt  quite  in  awe  until, 
after  a  prolonged  survey,  she  eventually  decided  in 
his  favor,  and  hopped  to  his  knee  like  a  bird  to  its 
perch. 

"My  name's  Luce,"  she  said,  breaking  into  con 
fidences.  "Matty,  she's  gone  up-stairs  to  change 
her  things,  though  I  don't  see  why.  I  think  she 
looks  pretty  in  'em,  don't  you?  Dad,  he  doesn't 
know  she  has  'em.  She  only  puts  them  on  when 
he's  away,  because  it  makes  me  feel  like  there's  a 

309 


THE   PROBATIONER 

man  around.  We  had  a  Crow  squaw  in  from  the 
Reservation  to  make  them." 

Coming  down  just  then,  Matty  put  an  end  to 
further  revelations.  A  pretty  boy  in  mooseskins, 
skirts  transformed  her  into  a  picture  of  healthy 
young  womanhood,  a  girl  whose  violet  glance  stir 
red  the  cow-puncher.  A  vast  shyness  fettered  his 
tongue,  and  he  felt  immensely  grateful  to  Luce, 
whose  chatter  relieved  him  from  the  necessity  of 
conversation* 

"I'm  eleven,"  the  latter  volunteered.  "Matty, 
she's — but  no,  that's  telling!  What  do  you  guess? 
Nineteen?  No,  she's  going  on  twenty-one.  How 
old  are  you?" 

Learning  that  he  was  five  -  and  -  twenty,  she 
branched  off  into  genealogical  research.  Had  he 
any  sisters?  One?  Where  did  she  live?  Indianny? 
Then  he  would  be  on  trail  Christmas,  and  get  no 
turkey  or  pudding!  Appalled  by  the  event  of  his 
calamity,  she  paused  and  surveyed  him  with  pity. 

"But  you  don't  have  to  go.  You  can  stay  right 
here  an'  help  eat  ours — can't  he,  Matty?" 

Looking  up  from  the  biscuit  she  was  rolling  out 
for  supper,  the  girl  nodded. 

"There,  didn't  I  tell  you?"  Luce  ran  on.  "Be 
sides,  if  you  don't  stay  you'll  miss  seeing  dad,  and 

310 


MATTY'S   CHRISTMAS   PRESENT 

he's  awful  nice.  Sheriff  of  Williamette  he  is,  an' — 
what's  the  matter?" 

"Spark  burned  my  hand,"  Walton  said. 

"Oh,  he's  terr'ble  brave!"  Luce  continued. 
"Right  now  he's  gone  to  the  Canada  line  after  a 
bad  man.  There's  a  thousand  dollars  reward,  an' 
if  dad  gets  it  I'm  to  have  a  doll  as  big  as  myself, 
an'  Matty,  she's  to  have  a  silk  party  dress.  I  hope 
dad  gets  him,  don't  you?" 

It  was  a  most  astonishing  situation.  The  cow- 
puncher  had  experienced  nothing  like  it  since  he 
broke  the  Lazy  Q  backing  "  four  of  a  kind  "  against 
a  "straight  flush,"  and  after  the  first  astonishment 
he  felt  its  fascination.  "Terr'ble  joke  on  the 
sheriff,"  would  have  summed  his  thought. 

But  presently  came  remorse.  Here  two  nice  girls 
were  lavishing  hospitality  on  a  man  who  was  doing 
his  best  to  bereave  them  of  Christmas  presents  ! 
At  supper  he  felt  himself  unworthy  of  Matty's  light 
biscuit,  and  when  Luce  hopped  back  to  her  perch  on 
his  knee,  after  she  had  put  away  her  dishes,  his  feel 
ing  bordered  positively  on  criminality. 

Not  that  it  spoiled  his  enjoyment  of  the  evening. 
The  sough  of  a  storm  and  -the  hum  of  a  stove  are 
mighty  aids  in  the  ripening  of  acquaintanceship. 
Soon  the  edge  wore  off  his  shyness,  and  he  and 

311 


THE   PROBATIONER 

Matty  gradually  drifted  from  commonplaces  to  con 
fidences.  Both  were  astonished  to  find  how  much 
of  thought  they  shared.  The  ideas  which  filled  the 
round  of  her  lonely  days  on  the  ranch  had  occurred 
to  him  night -riding  under  the  stars.  Simple 
thoughts  they  were,  such  as  are  natural  to  youth 
when  left  untouched  by  city  leprosies,  but  they  be 
lieved  them  striking  and  original  as  the  most  pre 
tentious  deliverances  of  the  philosophers.  So,  in 
this  one  evening,  they  came  to  know  more  of  each 
other  than  they  could  have  learned  in  a  month  of 
ordinary  intercourse.  Matty  liked  him,  and  her 
voice  was  soft  as  her  eyes  when  she  took  Luce 
from  his  arms  and  said  good-night. 

"You  can  take  dad's  room,"  she  said,  pausing  at 
the  foot  of  the  stairs  to  indicate  a  small  bedroom 
that  was  boarded  off  from  one  end  of  the  kitchen. 
And  when  he  answered  that  he  was  figuring  on  the 
stable,  she  exclaimed:  "In  that  cold  place?  Why 
should  you?" 

Hot  pincers  could  not  have  pulled  from  him  his 
real  reason.  He  simply  answered  that  he  often 
slept  with  his  horse,  and  that  he  could  smoke  in  the 
stable. 

"And  so  you  can  here,"  she  answered.  "You'll 
find  pipes  and  tobacco  up  there  by  the  clock." 

312 


MATTY'S   CHRISTMAS   PRESENT 

After  she  was  gone  he  turned  down  the  light  and 
sat  staring  into  the  stove's  one  eye,  which  gleamed 
redly  through  a  monocle  of  isinglass. 

"Do  they,  or  don't  they,  get  that  doll  an'  dress?" 
was  the  question  he  propounded  to  himself. 

The  world  has  known  no  more  chivalrous  knight- 
errantry  than  that  of  the  range-rider,  and  the  flower 
of  chivalry  could  not  have  dropped  lance  in  rest 
quicker  than  the  cow-puncher  answered  the  query. 

"They  shorely  do,"  he  muttered.  "They  do— if 
I  get  the  limit!" 

Five  minutes  thereafter  he  opened  the  door  and 
slipped  off  to  the  stable. 

Ill 

DURING  the  night  the  storm  blew  out;  morning 
broke  fair  and  frosty.  Heaving  up  from  behind  the 
earth's  white  shoulder,  the  sun  just  touched  her  vast 
white  bosom  and  set  it  ablaze  with  glittering  dia 
monds.  Each  snow  facet  threw  back  a  ray;  even 
the  air  was  diamond  in  its  quality.  Waking  late, 
Matty  listened  for  a  stir  beneath,  then  permitted  her 
reflective  glance  to  wander  between  the  dress  she 
had  worn  the  night  before  and  her  comfortable 
mooseskins.  Choring  in  skirts  was  distressing. 

313 


THE   PROBATIONER 

"I've  a  mind,"  she  mused  aloud,  "to  put  them 
on.  I  could  slip  out  and  in  before  he  gets  up." 

"Oh,  he  don't  mind  'em,"  Luce  chirped  from  un 
der  the  blankets.  "  Said  last  night  that  you  looked 
killing  in  'em." 

This  report  had  almost  decided  Matty,  but,  in  the 
end,  comfort  vanquished  misgiving. 

"  If  he  gets  up  before  I  come  in,  you're  not  to  let 
him  out,"  she  cautioned,  from  the  head  of  the 
stairs. 

Tiptoeing  down,  she  paused,  large-eyed  as  a  deer 
on  gaze,  then  passed  on  and  out  with  a  small  nod 
of  satisfaction.  A  foot  of  new  snow  covered  the 
path  to  the  stable,  and  its  white  glare  forced  her  to 
shield  her  eyes;  but  the  brightness,  the  crisp,  keen 
air,  and  the  pervading  Christmas  feeling  stimulated 
her  till  she  could  scarce  withhold  a  burst  of  song. 
But  her  guest  was  always  in  her  mind;  and,  remem 
bering  him,  she  compromised  on  a  hum — and  so, 
turning  the  stable  corner,  came  full  on  a  horseman. 

The  man,  a  tall  fellow,  had  just  ridden  in  from 
the  east,  for  his  fresh  tracks  led  out  from  behind 
a  shelter  belt  of  cotton-wood.  Matty's  hum  died; 
she  stood,  staring,  fascinated.  For  she  recognized 
him  at  once.  The  eyes  of  choleric  brown,  the  high 
cheek-bones,  the  head,  with  its  salient  angles,  set 

3U 


MATTY'S   CHRISTMAS   PRESENT 

forward  upon  the  shoulders  like  that  of  a  couchant 
beast,  all  belonged  to  the  portrait  of  Bat  Masters 
in  her  father's  gallery  of  rogues.  Only  whereas 
the  picture  was  set  and  smiling,  the  sinister  lines 
of  the  living  face  were  in  constant  motion,  appear 
ing  and  disappearing,  fading  or  deepening  to  each 
change  of  turgid  thought. 

"Are  you  the  sheriff's  kid?"  His  voice,  harsh 
and  nasal,  completed  Matty's  fright.  She  could  only 
nod.  " Didn't  know  as  he  had  a  boy!  Is  your  dad 
home?" 

She  jumped,  for  the  question  came  out  like  a 
shot  from  a  gun;  then  she  forgot  her  terror.  He 
might  kill  her,  but  he  should  have  no  information 
of  her  father's  movements.  She  neither  moved  nor 
spoke  when  he  cocked  his  gun.  A  small,  boyish 
figure,  she  stood  up  to  her  knees  in  snow,  returning 
the  defiance  of  silence. 

"Won't  speak,  eh?  Well,  I  reckon  you'll  serve 
in  place  of  your  dad.  Jest  about  the  size  of  my 
kid  brother,  the  kid  he  shot,  ain't  you?" 

For  months  the  man's  soul  had  turned  inward, 
feeding  fat  on  remorse,  anger,  despair,  and  his 
glance  was  charged  with  the  deadly  hate  that  distils 
from  such  hell-broth.  Matty  was  enduring  an  ex 
perience  seldom  undergone  by  one  of  her  sex;  she 
21  315 


THE   PROBATIONER 

gazed  into  eyes  that  were  cruel  with  the  ferocity 
which  man  reserves  for  his  fellow-man.  She  realized 
their  menace,  read  cold  murder  there;  but  murder 
was  preferable  to  another  look  whose  possibilities 
she  dimly  felt.  Taught  by  instinct,  she  prayed 
desperately  that  he  might  shoot  while  she  could  still 
turn  him  the  face  of  a  man. 

But  even  the  beasts  do  not  kill  in  cold  blood. 
There  are  preliminary  growlings,  scourgings  of  sides 
with  tails,  and  so  the  outlaw  lashed  himself  with 
the  bitter  whips  of  memory. 

"That's  what!  You're  just  the  size  of  the  kid 
that  was  shot  with  his  hands  up  an'  his  gun  on  the 
ground;  shot  by  your  father  like  I'm — "  He  raised 
his  gun. 

Matty  saw  the  great  white  prairies  heave  drunken- 
ly  about  the  sun.  For  what  seemed  an  age  she 
watched  their  crazy  gyrations;  then  came  a  sharp 
report,  and — blackness! 


IV 


BUT  the  shot  did  not  come  from  the  outlaw's 
gun.  Returning  consciousness  brought  Matty  the 
sensation  of  a  cold  hand  dabbling  snow  on  her  brow. 

316 


MATTY'S   CHRISTMAS   PRESENT 

Looking  up,  she  saw  the  cow-puncher  on  one  knee, 
his  other  hand  covering  the  outlaw.  The  latter  sat 
his  horse,  wringing  a  wounded  wrist. 

"Feeling  better?"  the  cow-puncher  whispered. 
"Think  you  can  make  the  house?  That's  the  brave 
girl!  Don't  tell  Luce — no  use  scaring  her.  Tell  her 
I  took  a  crack  at  a  ptarmigan.  I'll  come  when  I've 
finished  with  this  gent." 

Until  he  heard  the  door  close  on  Matty  he  kept 
his  man  covered.  Then  he  said: 

"  I  allow,  mister,  that  you'd  better  unlimber  from 
that  hoss  an'  let  him  walk  ahead  into  the  stable. 
Be  a  bit  per  tickler,  now." 

Following  in,  he  seated  himself  in  the  doorway 
and  looked  up  at  Masters,  who  stood  before  him, 
blank,  sullen,  blood  dripping  from  his  wounded 
hand. 

"I'm  afraid  I've  spoiled  your  shooting  some," 
the  cow-puncher  said.  Tossing  the  other  the  ker 
chief  from  his  neck,  he  continued :  "  Tie  that  up  afore 
the  frost  gets  in,  or  mebbe  it  '11  be  spoiled  for  good. 
Now,"  he  went  on,  when  the  other  had  adjusted 
the  bandage,  "let's  talk.  Sorter  poor  business 
you're  in,  friend,  shooting  up  girls." 

"Girls?"  Surprise  wiped  the  malignance  clean 
from  the  outlaw's  face.  "Before  God,  partner,  I 

317 


THE   PROBATIONER 

didn't  know  it!  It  was  the  clothes.  I  calculated 
to  get  the  sheriff  as  he  came  out  to  his  chores. 
He—" 

"Just  hold  your  hoss  there  for  a  minute,  son; 
this  ground's  plugged  full  of  badger-holes.  If  you 
don't  look  out  you'll  bust  the  legs  of  truth.  You 
disturbed  my  slumbers,  jest  before  I  potted  you 
through  the  knot-hole,  with  a  brash  statement  of 
how  your  kid  brother  was  shot  with  both  hands  in 
the  air.  Did  you  see  that  performance?" 

"No;  I  was  in  the  express-car.  The  man  told  me 
that  was  going  through  the  Pullmans." 

"Big  Dave  Reddick,  eh?" 

A  startled  oath  slipped  from  the  outlaw. 

"Who  in — what  do  you  know  of  Dave?" 

"  I  know  that  he  threw  you  down  on  that  hold-up ; 
that  he  shot  your  brother,  plugged  him  through  from 
behind  after  the  boy  had  turned  his  gun  loose  on  the 
sheriff;  that—" 

"Oh,  shore!"  The  outlaw  laughed  harshly. 
"This  is  a  weak  hand  you're  dealing  me,  partner. 
Big  Dave  rode  with  me  out  of  that  mess." 

"An'  would  have  served  you  up  to  the  coroner 
if  his  hoss  hadn't  dropped  a  leg  down  to  the  ground 
hogs.  Didn't  you  never  wonder  how  he  made  his 
get-away  with  the  posse  jest  eating  up  your  dust? 

318 


MATTY'S   CHRISTMAS   PRESENT 

Didn't  you  wonder  why  he  never  joined  you  up  there 
in  the  North?" 

His  quiet  confidence  staggered  the  outlaw.  "Part 
ner,"  he  groaned,  "how  did  you  learn  all  this?" 

The  explanation  was  simple.  That  summer  the 
cow-puncher  had  ridden  with  Reddick  on  the  Al 
berta  ranges,  and  had  nursed  him  through  an  at 
tack  of  delirium-tremens. 

"Worst  case  I  ever  saw,"  he  said.  "Mistook  me 
for  you,  the  kid,  an'  the  sheriff  by  turns.  No,  he's 
not  up  there  now."  He  anticipated  the  question. 
"Dave  sober  knew  what  Dave  drunk  had  given 
away,  and  he  could  never  bear  to  ride  with  me 
again.  Lit  out  for  Mexico  early  in  the  fall." 

Silence  fell  between  them.  The  cow-puncher 
took  his  eyes  from  the  other's  face,  respecting  its 
agony.  Its  expression  was  indescribable,  and  may 
only  be  approximated  by  simile.  Regret,  remorse, 
longing,  swayed  in  turn;  then  out  flashed  its  plenti 
ful  lines  of  hate  like  jagged  lightning  on  a  night 
sky.  Then  it  settled,  and  the  man  sighed,  the  hard 
sigh  of  renunciation. 

"Partner,"  he  said,  "I'd  like  to  know  whom  I'm 
obliged  to  for  heading  me  off  from  a  big  mistake.  I 
might  have  killed  that  girl.  What's  your  name? 
Walton?  Not  the  cow-puncher  that  shot  up  the 

319 


THE   PROBATIONER 

general   manager's   car?    Shore?    Say,    this   is   a 
funny  place  for  you  to  be!" 

"Darkest  under  the  lamp,  you  know.  The 
sheriff's  up  Bad  Man's  Trail  after  me,  an'  I'm 
here  sitting  in  his  stable.  He'd  have  got  me, 
though,  if  I  hadn't  taken  a  notion  to  come  down 
through  the  settlements.  I  was  warned  at  Lonely 
River." 

"Me,  too,"  the  outlaw  said,  "though  I  stuck  to 
Bad  Man's  as  far  as  Louis'  place."  Pausing,  he 
adjusted  the  bandage;  then,  with  the  gesture  of  a 
man  who  knows  that  he  is  beaten,  he  said,  "Well, 
partner,  it's  up  to  you." 

The  cow-puncher  ceased  tapping  the  door-sill. 
"I  s'pose,"  he  said,  slowly,  "that  I  orter  make 
the  people  of  Montana  a  Christmas  present  of  you. 
It  would  more  than  square  my  books.  But — I've 
run  too  long  with  the  hare  to  turn  with  the 
hounds.  Here's  your  gun,  partner.  Take  my 
hoss,  he's  fresher  than  yourn,  an'  I  don't  allow  to 
need  him  again."  The  outlaw  was  about  to  speak, 
but  he  ran  on.  "Now  cut  it  out  an'  make  a 
quick  cinching.  The  sheriff's  due  'most  any  min 
ute." 

But  the  outlaw  stood  confounded,  his  face  suf 
fused  with  astonished  red. 

320 


MATTY'S   CHRISTMAS   PRESENT 

"Partner/7  he  burst  out,  "you're  throwing  away 
five  thousand  dollars!" 

"Exactly."  The  cow-puncher  grinned.  "I  feel 
like  Vanderbilt.  Breathe  on  that  bit;  it's  frosty." 
Undisturbed,  cool,  and  practical,  he  talked  while 
the  other  made  quick  preparation,  and  gave  ad 
vice  on  the  choice  of  trails. 

"But  you  ain't  going  to  stay  here?"  the  outlaw 
said,  as  he  led  his  horse  outside. 

"Shore!  There's  two  girls  up  at  the  house  that 
don't  connect  with  Santa  Glaus  if  their  dad  fails  to 
get  his  hooks  on  me." 

Dumfounded,  the  outlaw  sat  his  horse. 

"I'm  doubtful,"  he  said,  at  last,  "that  I  orter 
stay  here  an'  see  you  through.  But  I  must  play 
that  lone  hand  down  in  Mexico.  Ain't  there  noth 
ing  I  kin  do?" 

"Nothing  but  light  out,"  the  cow-puncher  an 
swered.  "I  ain't  going,  either,  to  swear  you  to  a 
godly  life  or  ask  you  to  tend  Sunday-school  here 
after.  I  reckon  you'll  live  by  the  pattern  the  Al 
mighty  cut  you  on.  Jest  where  train-robbers  come 
in  on  the  plan  o'  salvation  I  don't  rightly  see. 
Mebbe  they're  means  to  abase  the  pride  of  godless 
corporations.  Anyway,  your  time  hain't  come  ac 
cording  to  my  calculations  till  you've  had  your 

321 


THE   PROBATIONER 

chance  at  Big  Dave.  All  I  ask  is  that  you  get  your 
feuds  straight  after  this  afore  you  pull  a  gun.  So 
vamos  now,  an'  adios,  as  they  say  down  there." 

"There's  some/'  he  mused,  when  man  and  horse 
had  drawn  down  to  a  dot  on  the  snow,  "as  might 
think  I'd  played  it  low  on  the  Greasers.  But  I 
don't  love  them  none  since  I  rode,  that  season,  their 
borders.  An'  they're  plumb  able  to  take  care  of 
themselves.  If  our  friend  goes  to  monkey  with 
their  rolling-stock,  I  can  tell  him  he'd  better  make 
sure  of  his  get-away." 


AT  Tiger  Buttes,  on  the  settlements  trail,  the 
sheriff  received  first  news  of  Masters.  A  roustabout 
on  the  Bar  X  Bar  Ranch  had  seen  a  man  answering 
to  the  outlaw's  description  south-bound  on  the  Will- 
iamette  trail.  Fifty  miles  of  drift  lay  between  Tiger 
Buttes  and  the  sheriff's  ranch,  but  he  made  it  in 
six  hours,  though  the  beast  he  borrowed  from  the 
Bar  X  Bar  was  not  much  of  a  horse  at  the  end. 

Yet  the  rider  was  in  worse  case.  A  man  inured 
to  wounds  and  the  face  of  sudden  death,  he  almost 
fainted  when,  from  the  crown  of  a  long  snow-roll, 

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MATTY'S   CHRISTMAS   PRESENT 

he  saw  the  stovepipes  at  either  end  of  his  house  fling 
ing  out  white  pennons,  banners  of  Christmas  cheer. 
He  dared  not  accept  the  favorable  omen.  He  stag 
gered  from  his  horse  to  the  door,  and  there  paused, 
powerless  to  enter.  A  laugh  from  inside  caused  him 
to  fall  back  as  if  from  a  blow.  Suffocating,  he  raised 
the  latch. 

Consternation  entered  with  him.  Luce,  who  was 
superintending  the  cow-puncher's  labors  in  stirring 
the  Christmas  pudding,  screamed,  Matty  dropped 
the  egg-beater,  and  the  little  color  she  had  gained 
since  her  fright  of  the  day  before  fled  at  the  sight 
of  her  father's  ghastly  face.  Ignoring  her  startled 
inquiry,  the  sheriff  stood  staring  at  the  cow-puncher. 

"Walton!"  he  gasped,  at  last.  "Where  — I 
thought—" 

Readily  divining  the  cause  of  his  painful  agitation, 
the  cow-puncher  plunged  to  end  it. 

"  Yes,  yes,  he  was  here,  but  he's  gone,  an'  no  one 
the  worse  for  his  coming.  Easy  now — you're  scar 
ing  the  girls!  Here — take  a  swallow  of  this."  He 
poured  out  a  glass  of  the  brandy  which  Matty  was 
using  to  fortify  her  mince-meat. 

The  sheriff  gulped  it.  "He  was  here?  Tell  me 
of  it."  And  when  the  cow-puncher  finished  his 
modest  recital,  he  exclaimed:  "An'  while  you  were 

323 


THE   PROBATIONER 

doing  this  for  me  an'  mine,  I  was  out  hunting  the 
price  on  your  head!" 

"Father!"  Matty  cried,  "you  don't  mean 
that—" 

"Yes,  he  does,"  the  cow-puncher  quietly  inter 
posed.  "But  there's  no  occasion  for  you  to  feel 
bad.  You  see  I  was  coming  down  to  give  myself 
up." 

But  though  he  lied  most  glibly,  one  small  witness 
remained  unconvinced. 

"It's  a  story!"  Luce's  small  treble  startled  her 
elders.  Brown  eyes  glowing,  flushed,  she  voiced 
her  abiding  faith  in  appearances  from  her  chair  by 
the  table.  "It's  a  story!  You  ain't  bad,  are  you?" 

Walton  laughed. 

"Well,  let's  call  it  foolish,  little  girl.  Anyway, 
I'm  the  man  he's  looking  for,  an'  you  stand  all  right 
to  get  that  doll.  Terr'ble  joke,  though,  ain't  it?" 

But  neither  girl  seemed  to  see  the  point,  and, 
divining  from  Luce's  quivering  lip  and  Matty's 
troubled  eyes  that  a  scene  was  imminent,  he  used 
the  sheriff's  tired  horse  as  an  excuse  to  escape. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later,  the  sheriff  joined  him 
at  the  stable,  a  roll  of  greenbacks  in  his  hand. 

"Walton,"  he  said,  "Matty's  told  me  all,  an'  it's 
not  for  me  to  put  the  hand  of  the  law  on  your  shoul- 

324 


MATTY'S   CHRISTMAS   PRESENT 

der.  Take  this.  It  ain't  much — a  hundred  or  so, 
but  it's  all  I  have  by  me,  an'  it  '11  help  you  along. 
Saddle  the  roan  mare.  She  has  Hambletonian 
blood,  an'  will  easily  fetch  a  couple  of  hundred 
when  you're  through  with  her." 

But  Walton  quietly  pushed  away  his  hand. 

"Too  late,  boss!  A  neighbor  of  yours,  a  man 
with  whom  I've  clinked  glasses  in  Williamette,  was 
here  this  morning,  an'  I  told  him  that  I'd  given 
myself  up.  Besides,"  he  paused,  "that  would  be 
mighty  poor  business  for  the  sheriff  of  Williamette, 
the  man  who  busted  up  the  Masters  gang.  Com 
pounding  felony,  ain't  that  what  the  law-sharps  call 
it?  No,  sirree!  You  couldn't  do  that  sort  of 
thing  if  you  tried.  Go  ahead  an'  pull  the  East 
erner's  money." 

The  sheriff,  however,  was  equally  obstinate.  "  No, 
sir,  it  would  burn  my  hands.  As  you  say,  I'm 
the  sworn  servant  of  the  people,  an'  as  I'm  not 
equal  to  my  duty,  but  one  thing  remains."  He 
consulted  his  watch.  "Half  after  three — just  time 
to  change  an'  catch  the  west-bound  freight  at  Will 
iamette.  Will  you  hitch  me  the  roan  mare?" 

The  beast  was  tied  to  the  snubbing-post  long  be 
fore  the  sheriff  finished  dressing;  indeed,  he  was  just 
getting  a  "  half  -Nelson "  on  his  collar  when  Matty 

325 


THE    PROBATIONER 

came  down-stairs  and  spoke  to  the  cow-puncher. 
Her  voice  easily  penetrated  the  thin  board  partition, 
and  a  large  knot-hole  against  the  edge  of  his  mirror 
gave  the  sheriff  a  view  of  her  face. 
"Please,"  she  said,  "won't  you  go?" 
"An'  do  you  out  of  that  party  dress?"    The  par 
tition  vibrated  to  his  laugh;  then  came  a  sob,  and 
the  sheriff  saw  the  tears  brimming,  large  and  full, 
in  his  daughter's  eyes. 

"I  was  thinking — of  that,"  she  sobbed.  "So — 
heartless,  but — I  didn't  think!" 

"  'Course  you  didn't.  There,  there!  Don't  cry." 
The  hand  that  slipped  out  to  take  hers  somehow 
missed  its  aim  and  slid  around  her  waist,  and — she 
did  not  draw  back.  Nay,  her  head  lowered,  and 
she  cried  upon  his  shoulder.  Gasping,  the  sheriff 
lost  his  advantage  over  the  collar.  Here  was  a 
complication!  His  mind  refused  to  deal  with  it 
until  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  Matty's  face;  then  back 
rolled  the  mists  of  more  than  twenty  years,  and  he 
saw  his  dead  wife  as  she  had  looked  when  he  asked 
a  certain  question. 

He  deliberately  fumbled  the  latch  before  stepping 
out  into  the  kitchen.  "Going  up  to  see  the  Gov 
ernor,"  he  said,  answering  Matty's  question.  "  I'll  be 
back  on  the  midnight  train."  To  which,  looking  at 

326 


MATTY'S   CHRISTMAS  PRESENT 

Walton,  he  added,  with  a  touch  of  grim  humor,  "  I 
s'pose  there's  no  hope  of  you  escaping?" 
"Nary!"  the  other  grinned. 


VI 

ON  that  particular  evening  the  private  sanctum 
of  the  Governor  of  Montana  bore  such  a  close  re 
semblance  to  a  toy-shop  that  the  chief  executive,  a 
grizzled  old-timer,  ordered  his  guest  to  be  shown  into 
a  room  that  should  be  more  in  keeping  with  the 
State's  dignity.  But  on  recognizing  the  sheriff,  he  led 
him  back  into  the  heart  of  the  seasonable  disorder. 

"You  have  brats  of  your  own,  Jack/'  he  said, 
accosting  his  visitor  by  the  familiar  title  of  the  early 
days;  "but  you  won't  get  all  that's  in  it  till  Matty 
makes  you  a  grandfather.  How  is  she?  And  what 
are  you  doing  from  home  on  Christmas  eve?" 

He  whistled,  and  his  grizzled  brows  drew  down 
when  the  sheriff  told  of  the  risk  his  girls  had  run, 
but  his  eye  twinkled  at  the  close  of  the  story. 

"So  the  scapegrace  refuses  to  run  for  it,"  he 
laughed.  "Well,  I  don't  blame  him;  as  for  Matty 
— takes  a  little  after  her  mother,  doesn't  she,  Jack? 
You  made  a  pretty  quick  business  of  it  yourself,  if 
memory  serves  me.  Now  about  this  business  of  re- 

327 


THE   PROBATIONER 

signing — you  are  taking  altogether  too  serious  a  view 
of  it.  Anxiety  has  knocked  your  nerve,  and  small 
wonder.  Just  ease  up  a  bit  till  you  get  your  grip." 

The  sheriff  shook  his  head. 

"Now  look  at  it  straight/'  the  Governor  went  on. 
"  If  a  jury  of  traders  had  got  the  boy  after  he  shat 
tered  the  manager's  dignity,  he  might  have  taken  the 
limit,  but  now  the  affair  is  regarded  pretty  much  in 
the  light  of  a  good  joke.  Why,  the  manager  told  it 
on  himself  in  a  New  York  club  the  other  day; 
wouldn't  sell  the  experience  for  five  thousand.  Of 
course,  it  would  have  simplified  matters  if  Walton 
had  turned  Masters  over  to  you,  but  I  like  him  the 
better  for  it.  But  let  us  have  no  more  talk  of  resig 
nation.  You  need  not  shirk  your  duty.  Just  ar 
rest  Walton,  subpoena  a  cattle  jury,  and  the  fine 
they'll  give  him  won't  knock  much  of  a  hole  in  the 
manager's  thousand." 

"Look  here — "  the  sheriff  began. 

"Just  so,"  the  Governor  interrupted,  "but  if 
things  are  as  you  think  they  are,  don't  you  sup 
pose  the  young  folks  would  like  a  little  to  start 
housekeeping  on?  Besides" — he  paused  and  sur 
veyed  the  sheriff  with  a  twinkling  eye — "you 
wouldn't  begrudge  that  Easterner  the  chance  of 
telling  another  on  himself?  Shut  up,  sir!  We 

328 


MATTY'S   CHRISTMAS   PRESENT 

have  just  time  to  slip  out  and  buy  that  doll  and 
dress  before  the  train  pulls  out." 

Though  it  was  midnight  when  the  roan  mare 
pulled  up  to  the  snubbing-post,  Matty  came  running 
out  to  greet  the  sheriff.  Her  arms  were  about  his 
neck  before  he  had  half  finished  his  news,  and  for  a 
minute  thereafter  he  stood  in  imminent  danger  of 
suffocation.  Fathers  there  are  who  would  have  ac 
cepted  the  cow-puncher's  offer  to  stable  the  horse, 
but  out  of  a  consideration  that  had  its  roots  in  the 
long  past  the  sheriff  refused. 

And  coming  in  from  the  stable  he  saw  enough  to 
justify  refusal. 

It  was  not  his  fault.  Matty  had  forgotten  to  pull 
down  the  blinds.  She  was  standing  on  a  chair  by 
the  Christmas-tree  that  the  cow-puncher  had  set 
up  the  day  before,  and  had  just  finished  hanging 
the  big  wax  doll  to  the  topmost  bough.  The  cow- 
puncher  was  handing  her  the  bolt  of  silk. 

"Just  enough  for  a  wedding-dress,"  he  said. 

The  sheriff  did  not  hear  the  words,  but  he  saw 
the  look,  and — considerately  turned  his  back. 


THE    END 


o 

I 


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